Her willowy legs dangled freely over the edge of the long-since rotted floorboards. She remembered this place. Any other person would've been off put by a gutted feeling of unease when stepping into a place in such a state, herself included. However, she had a comforting phantom wavering over her, one that accompanied a humble, seeping warmth which rooted itself into her soul and spread, much like an ancient tree. A tree which had branches that twisted and converged into a tangled mess, much like the wiry, knotted strands of hair on her head. The warmth had a name: memories. Anyone could look at the estate and see why it was considered the mysterious source of the many evils which haunted the town. The real sources were unknown, but it's always easier to put the blame on something else, isn't it? The house was large and bruiting and seemed as though it had withered. The dried remains of the once-loved garden, which surrounded the estate, was in likeness to long, spindly fingers, grasping for the air above them. It was no wonder why a shuddering cold accompanied any passerby who was either too stubborn or too naive to choose an alternate route. Everything seemed to be faded, as if it were a decade old family photograph, and it was nothing short of what could be considered as a family heirloom. Though, it was only her left. It's color scheme consisted of dark grays, soft Browns, and miserable black. This only aided in the dark aura which radiated off of the mite-bitten foundation. Of course, she knew better. She, even now, could smell the sweet and earthy smell of the garden. It accompanied a soft pounding of rain on the pale window panes. The house always seemed to be warm, a curtain of cosy atmosphere lain over it, embroidered with laughter and decades of affection. The skeletal remains of the once, proud, towering gates now clung clumsily to their hinges. There was no more music. No more games to be played in the yard. No more parties - which more often than not ended up as intimate gatherings. She ignored the chill of the draft, and replaced it with the warmth it used to be. She wished more than anything to go back to that time, but she couldn't. With a melancholic sigh, she cautiously rose from her rotted seat. Finding her way to a more sturdy area of plank, she remembered a song. It was the song which showcased the very pinnacle of their gatherings. When it played, the room would erupt into what is best described as the most accurate visual depiction of joy. She centered herself as the songs first chords struck within her mind. First a step forward, her right foot. Then, another. Her left. She bowed to an invisible partner. She began to take quick steps while bending and flowing freely in all directions. Her arms remained up, in the shoulders of a ghost. The floor beneath her creaked in agitation, but she could only hear the cheerful, whimsical melody. She turned and spun with her imaginary companion, picturing it as one of her loved ones. Another powerful set of chords struck and the climax of the song was reached. She leapt shyly of the ground, sure not to cause too much strain. She slowly circled her partner, clockwise and opposite. Again when the songs last few notes gently curled and unraveled into the air around her. Whispered like a secret, the last note was pressed, and the silence dug into her gut, twisting it with unbearable longing. She kept her composure. She bowed to her dancer, and sunk to the floorboards. A gentle stream of tears had slithered their way down her face. They hit the ground with an almost inaudible 'plick.' She was still smiling, bowing her head in respect to a being she could not see, but she could feel. Her next words fluttered out and slumped into the plastered walls with an immediate concession. Then, she was gone. The shadow of her quiet, unheard plead, to a receiver unseen, had buried itself. It seeped into the room's very fibers, imprinting it with a solemn, but unheard conclusion.
"...Thank you."
