There was something comforting about that sound, Miranda thought - the steady click-clacking of typewriter keys beneath her fingers but the words failed her. She stared at the paper waiting to be filled with ink. There were a few letters on it, but they were useless. They were in a language that meant nothing to her.
Agitated, she abandoned the desk and sought out the neglected gardens behind the house. Was there something strange about this garden or was there something strange about her? Everything in the garden had started blooming since she returned to this place. She didn’t know why. Even the swimming pool had become a murky haven for an overabundance of water lilies. The blooms burst forth in a multitude of vibrant colors. She knelt by the edge of the pool, let her fingers skim the cool wetness.
This strange house, it sang to her. The ghosts in the graveyard over the hill whispered things to her that she didn’t understand. There were so many secrets here. Answers to questions she was certain she must have once known. Her scarred mind had locked those things away. Had she been sent back here to find those things, to find herself again? To remember?
