GRAVE FOR THE SOLITUDE, theodore laurence

03| opening up

CHAPTER THREE
opening-up ————

Eleanor was never one for being invited to things. Throughout her life, the only friends she had were her parents, Aquila, herself, and nature. So as she stood outside the Laurence home, she raked her fingers in uncertainty and knocked on the large intimidating door again. Unlike yesterday, the Winter wasn't as cynical. She managed to walk a whopping total of three rounds around the forest edge (which is rather big) and still had enough energy to go to the Laurence home. She wore the same clothing from yesterday, only instead she's now wearing a thin grey cardigan. She waited for someone to answer the door as she mumbled to herself in French, learning a tiny bit from her father, Gary Rigby.

Nevertheless, Eleanor woke up in the dark rising of 5 AM to take an early Saturday walk. Today, the Laurence home seemed silent when she arrived on the porch-- it was still and intimidating. But it was less intimidating, unlike the past two times. It radiated a warm sunlike aura which made Eleanor feel less agitated. Perhaps it's because the house was opening up to her or how she knows that someone who's angsty and arrogant doesn't live in there. She had knocked on the single door entrance three consecutive times and lowered her balled fist.

The door snapped open after a good ten seconds, causing Eleanor to jolt out of her stance. She met face with a maid, brown hair and scruffy. The maid pulled a brow at her. 'How may I help you?'

Eleanor inwardly panicked and tripped over her stutters. 'I- uh, I- I'm here for uh- Laurie?'

'Oh, he's upstairs. Come in, come in,' she ushered, letting Eleanor in the home.

Eleanor dried her shoes on the placemat and her shoes squeaked against the marble polished floor. She pinched herself from humiliation, her ears pricking pink. When she looked up from the floor, the door had already been shut and the maid was scampering up the towering stairs in a concentrated pace. 'Sheesh, she's quick,' Eleanor mumbled to herself. She scrambled after the maid up the tiring flight of stairs, recalling this as her third time walking up those same stairs. Damn stairs— I've officially decided that they are my enemy, Eleanor begrudgingly thought to herself.

They slipped through a corridor which Eleanor didn't recognise. The walls closed in on her and barely any golden light surpassed the mellow curtains. Eleanor began to feel an itch in her neck and she pursed her lips and cheeks, constantly half admiring the architecture of the home, poking her head in every corner direction. The home smelt like lavender, Eleanor realised. The smell pierced her nostrils and she didn't know where to settle; was the home nice or eerily beautiful? Maybe both.

The maid paused at a door and knocked intrusively, Eleanor waiting behind her. The door was this unburnished brown, remains of the old life of the piece of wood stroked polished streams downward. She towered over the maid by a feet, having to look down at her. 'Laurie, someone's here for you!' She announced, retracting her knuckled from the door.

Eleanor heard a shuffle from behind the door. She realised she was raking her fingers— a ghastly habit she picked up on from Gary Rigby, her soft-hearted father. The slightly rusted silver doorknob twisted to the right and the door nudged open. A smile tugged on Eleanor's face when Laurie had opened the door, however, still in his nightclothes. A bewildered expression overtook his sleepy features and he stumbled.

'Morning,' he managed to say with an uncharacteristic flush. 'Jane, Eleanor,' Laurie acknowledged to the two ladies, nodding his head to each of them.