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Its symmetry from the front appealed to her. The house was a
rectangular, three-story building. The porch had once wrapped
neatly around the front. The windows were evenly spaced,
four big ones on the lower story, five on the upper, and a peak
at the top, rising out of the roofline with three tiny panes. The
turret was the only thing not symmetrical about the monolith
of a building. It stood proudly in strange and utter defiance of
any architectural rhyme or reason.
One look at the house, which she’d found on a website of an
elderly woman with a passion project for older architecture
that needed to be restored, and she knew it was hers.
Over the past six months, it had become her home away
from the home she’d never really had. She’d started slowly to
put it back together, documenting every step of the way. She’d
doubled her social media following, and the videos she
uploaded were getting more and more views every single
week, which brought in its own revenue stream. Since she
didn’t need the money, Adalynn had said she would take the
profits at the end of it all and donate them to a worthy cause
.
She hadn’t found one yet, but she would.
The interior of the house had been moderately better cared
for. It was three thousand and some odd square feet of ancient
doors, mantles, fireplaces, ornate woodworking, solid
banisters, and craftsmanship that wouldn’t be found in the
modern century because the art had been nearly lost and it had
become unaffordable for things to be worked and produced by
hand.
As she did at seven every night, Adalynn sat down at her
farmhouse kitchen table. She’d furnished the house sparsely,
