A creaking windowpane,
Pelted with snow,
Reflecting light onto the dusty, deep brown floor.
The rooms seems to sigh, pained with age,
Abandoned; left waiting,
The cold is kept at bay by a single lamp,
Filling the small space with warmth.
Before she even rested, it’s time to face the world again.
Some days she wonders: How many others fabricate their grins?
She takes a deep breath of air, and heads out to see what awaits.
After all, curiosity is always one of a hero’s best traits.