![]() Shingles had fallen off the roof and siding peeled from the walls in chunks. Big, ornate and nonsensical the way Victorians often are, the building jutted against the morning sky, a dark ruin left to rot. I had driven slowly, looking for the right address, and when the old Victorian came into view, I almost drifted off the road. The trees stood mostly bare except for the evergreen Texas oaks that only dropped their leaves when they felt like it. Then there was the time when I first arrived at my own inn. Tall terraced buildings rose on both sides of us, and straight ahead, where the alley ran into a street, a current of creatures in every color and shape possible surged past merchant stalls, while a shattered planet looked at them from a purple sky. ![]() I shut my eyes against the bright light, and when I opened them, we stood in an alley paved with stone. We reached it, it swung open, and summer exhaled heat in my face. At the end of the hallway, an ordinary door waited. My dad brought me a pair of aviator shades, then he took my right hand and my mom took my left, and together we walked down a long hallway deep into our inn. I looked out of the window, at the grey November sky smothered with clouds, and decided that I wasn’t going. ![]() ![]() One time, when I was five, my parents told me that we were going on a trip. Some moments in life you remember forever. ![]()
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