![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
starting count: 16230
ending count: 17236
change: +1006
starting line:
Shit. A decision. Time to grovel. “I’m sorry, Danielle. I got distracted by something.” I turned my back on both James and Alis and leaned against the kitchen wall. “Start again.”
ending line:
Alis had sighed and reminded me that not everyone was born wealthy, which had stung a bit, but she’d made her point.
darling:
It was deathly quiet, other than my breathing; the room ran the entire length and breadth of the house. The broken remnants of life littered the floor: a child’s rocking horse, the shredded contents of a hope chest, shards of what might have been either dishes or vases crunching under my boots as I walked across the mess. A dresser with tattered pieces of clothing hanging from its open drawers sagged against the back wall as if it were too tired to stand on its own anymore. A spinning wheel ghosted in the corner, the cobwebs of ages draped over its spindle like fine aged white thread. It was cold, but only the cold of the Ghostlands. I turned slowly, catching David’s eye. He shook his head. No Ellen.
ending count: 17236
change: +1006
starting line:
Shit. A decision. Time to grovel. “I’m sorry, Danielle. I got distracted by something.” I turned my back on both James and Alis and leaned against the kitchen wall. “Start again.”
ending line:
Alis had sighed and reminded me that not everyone was born wealthy, which had stung a bit, but she’d made her point.
darling:
It was deathly quiet, other than my breathing; the room ran the entire length and breadth of the house. The broken remnants of life littered the floor: a child’s rocking horse, the shredded contents of a hope chest, shards of what might have been either dishes or vases crunching under my boots as I walked across the mess. A dresser with tattered pieces of clothing hanging from its open drawers sagged against the back wall as if it were too tired to stand on its own anymore. A spinning wheel ghosted in the corner, the cobwebs of ages draped over its spindle like fine aged white thread. It was cold, but only the cold of the Ghostlands. I turned slowly, catching David’s eye. He shook his head. No Ellen.
