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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,