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Hugo’s Point of View
Katie stood in the very center of the master suite lounge on the third floor of my home, her body still and absorbing. I let her browse at her own pace, still slightly reeling from the fact that our luggage was brought here.
Her eyes were wide as they traced every curve and flourish of the ornate cornicing that had been meticulously hand-crafted in the 1800s. The plaster swirls and scrolls caught the soft winter light that filtered through tall sash windows.
I glanced through a doorway into the library and saw the same light casting delicate shadows across the painted mural ceiling — a vast, faded map of the entire world, continents outlined in gold leaf that glinted faintly whenever the sun shifted its angle.