The Cottage
Layla held her breath, fight back the tears that threatened to bubbled out again. She vowed she wouldn’t cry, not til she got there.
She slipped quietly through the overgrown garden, minding both the moss filled cracks within the stepping stones and the tendrils of poison ivy that encroached yet again. Her chest bucked with a sob that fought to break free. She’d have to bring better gloves next time to wrangle the mess back. For now, she hiked her skirt, stepping over the triple leaves and onto the uneven, faded blue paint flaking off as she shouldered it open.
People said ‘home is where the heart is.’ The cottage wasn’t home. But, it did hold a sliver of her heart. And today, she needed as many pieces of her heart as she could get.
Slanted sunbeams leaned through the cracked kitchen window, turning dust and cobwebs to sparkling gold, stirring with something more than just the breeze of her passing.
The floor creaked. Her jaw creaked with it, tightening as she stepped into the dust coated living room. She ignored the peeling wallpaper, the crumbling plaster, the faded floral couch that was probably home to a number of tiny critters. They had right to comfort of the cottage as much as she did.
Her chin trembled now, cheeks and nose growing warm. No. Not yet.
She slowed her steps, careful that her haste wouldn’t disturb the room. She hadn’t laid the magic here. If she broke it, she would have no idea how to fix it. And she needed the cottage.
Well, Not the cottage, exactly.
She stopped before the mirror, its gilded frame tarnished with age where it sat on the floor, leaned against the wall by someone else long ago.
One deep breath. Would anyone even be around?
A second deep breath. Yes. Someone was always here.
A third. She didn’t want to cry again, get red and puffy all over. She just needed to be here, with them.
She squatted down, folding her legs as she sat on the only clean spot, dusted by her backside over the many previous visits.
A half dozen reflections filled the mirror, all different colors and ages-mostly women, a couple men-all layered upon each other, blurred together and yet completely distinct if only one looked a little closer.
A girl just younger than Layla read aloud, brown curls spilling over her shoulder. A young man listened, focusing just left of the mirror, arm raised and paint brush in hand. A middle aged woman bent over a ledger, running numbers even as she smiled at something the girl said. Others listened as well, a little further out of focus.
Something in Layla’s chest eased.
She pulled in a long, slow breath, squeezing her ankles, trying her best to listen to the words being shared, but her heart picked up speed, thumping loudly in her ears. Her nose tingled and she sniffed softly, trying to keep it from dripping.
The girl paused.
“Welcome, Layla!” The girl’s smile shone, more brilliant than the glittering dust motes. “I didn’t think we’d see you today.”
Other soft hellos echoed out to her through the glass.
Layla’s face warmed, happiness seeping into her sorrow, both working loose the dam she had pounded into place.
“Hello. Sorry to interrupt. Please, go on.” A tear broke free, streaking down her face before she could swipe it away.
The painter paused. “Layla?”
Her smile cracked, breaking into wobbly pieces, two more tears running loose.
“Oh, Layla,” the painter sighed, his smile sad and knowing.
And her heart spilled out across the cottage floor.
modern fantasy short story, quiet urban fantasy story, fantasy flash fiction, by SM Jake