She peeped through the windows. Its interior was crammed with pictures, flowers, objects d'art and beautiful furniture. What she could not see, what she could not possibly have known, was that Gothic House also sheltered ghosts and unseen occupants who were not supposed to be there.
Years later, Emily would still marvel how her existence changed so quickly, so profoundly, after going into Gothic House. It had been a pleasant place filled with the sights and sounds of any home. In spite of its warmness, it was cold. In spite of its smallness, it was the biggest, the most perfect house that Emily had ever known. It had produced an unsettling effect on her. She could remember how she distinctly felt displaced though comfortable; strangely disconnected from reality though feeling a conscience of knowing; how her neck hair had bristled; how her nose itched; her repeated sneezes.
But today was for today. She opened the handsome entry door of mahogany, tip-toed in, removed her shoes and wiggled her toes in the plush kilim rug which warmed the entry. Em understood that she was free to explore, yet responsible for her acts.
She paused in front of an ebony framed looking glass. Removing her straw bonnet and twitching her cheeks to a rosy shine, she admired the return picture of youthful beauty smiling back at her. Emily was lean to the bone with a complexion of creamed ivory. Her dark locks teased a sunny round face that housed limpid brown eyes and a small Roman nose. She adjusted the lace fichu at her neck and removed a cameo brooch which had come unpinned. She dropped it in the pocket of her frock. Only then did she enter the withdrawing room to her left to look around.
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