I pushed open the heavy door and light flooded into the dim stairwell. "...Hello?" I called quietly, stepping across the threshold. Immediately I stopped in my tracks.
The attic was like everything I had ever romanticised about a room. There were two big, old-fashioned round windows that let in shafts of sunlight that lit the whole large space. Golden dust motes danced in them, floating on the draft that came through the open door. The ceiling was fairly low, but high enough for a relatively tall person to stand up straight, although they may have to duck as they neared the edges of the room where the roof sloped down to meet the old wooden floorboards. Under both windows, cushioned window seats were faded to a comfortable, soft green colour. I wanted to curl up on one of them with a book and a cuppa that very instant.
It was spacious for an attic, and surprisingly airy, filled with the familiar smell of cracked book covers and fresh parchment paper, as well as the crisp scent of paint. On the half of the room I stood on, every corner that didn't have a piece of old, well-loved furniture in it was filled with an oddity or potted plant of some sort. As a point of reference, a few paces away from me, a sagging, overstuffed armchair fought for elbow room with a leafy plant on one side and an antiquated globe that looked to be so old as to be inaccurate on the other. Two dusty books were balanced precariously atop the latter; the edge of a once-pink flower petal could just be seen poking out of the pages of the top volume, still loyally marking the long absent reader's place. Paintings were also strewn across the room, some framed on what little wall space there was (what with the sloped roof), others still on easels, half finished, and a few pinned on a clothesline, drying. They were all colourful and strange in the same style as the pictures strewn across the walls throughout the rest of the house. The entire right side of the room was this way, a hodge podge of interesting things that I could very well see myself getting lost in for hours.
The left side of the room, besides being dimmer as it was farthest from the two windows, was more orderly. Four relatively short parallel rows of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves took up most of the floor space over there, custom crafted to fit the slope of the roof. Each shelf was chock full of books of varying colours, ages, and subjects. There didn't seem to be much order to how they were shelved, but that was okay. I crossed over slowly to get a better look; scattered at random across the shelves were a few small bits and bobs: a paintbrush or two, a china teacup and saucer with some fresh dregs of tea still sitting in the bottom, a magnifying glass. Besides these small things, I could tell that this library was painstakingly kept in contrast to the rest of the room. Even the creaky old desk in the corner was neatly organised, with all the art supplies meticulously cleaned and orderly. A medium sized pet bed was stowed under the desk out of the way. Whoever worked here was very particular about keeping it tidy.
I reached out a hand and touched the side of a bookshelf, letting out a slow breath. "This is..."
Do you like it?
I jumped at the unexpected voice that certainly didn't belong to Luna. Upon turning around, all I saw was the room, undisturbed, and Luna standing by the door with a content smile. I was looking at her quizzically when movement in my peripherals caught my attention.
It was the fox, hopping down off of one of the window seats. He expertly skirted around the books and furnishings and came to a halt directly in front of me, where he sat down and curled his long tail around his paws almost daintily. His yellow eyes gazed steadily into my face, waiting for my answer.
I squatted down to get on a face-to-face level with him and returned the stare quizzically. "Did you...?"
His ears flicked. If foxes could look amused, I'd say the look he was giving me right then was definitely one of amusement. Not even in your brain do animals talk, my friend.
"But I definitely just heard you."
Yeah, well. The rules on telepathy aren't exactly hard and fast. I never said you didn't have an imagination. Besides, you know my voice. It's my face you've never seen. Hence the tail. The tip of the fox's tail twitched.
I rocked back on my heels. "I dunno, this is kind of pushing it even for me. It doesn't help that you keep breaking the fourth wall."
Would you prefer I stopped?
"Nah," I sighed. "It kind of makes sense, in a weird way. Plus, I think you secretly like it."
Oh, it's not that much of a secret. So... He rose to his feet and padded a few steps away before glancing back at me. What do you think?
I got up, too, and surveyed the room for a few more seconds before smiling a little.
"I think it kind of kicks ass."
