The lock clicked, and the door swung inward to reveal Marian Woodard, wearing an oversized linen tunic smudged with charcoal, her silver hair tied in a loose bun. “Don’t just stand there in the rain,” she smiled, stepping aside. “Come inside and see what my floor space actually looks like.”
Arthur took a hesitant step over the threshold, and the moment his polished dress shoes hit the floor, his jaw literally dropped. From the outside, the house looked like a tiny, cramped box, but the interior was a breathtaking, sunken architectural masterpiece that defied the external geometry of the building.
The walls were seamless, undulating waves of hand-carved Venetian plaster catching light from a hidden skylight, while a stone staircase floated effortlessly toward an upper loft. Arthur stood entirely awestruck, instantly realizing he had made a catastrophic valuation mistake, yet he was too stunned to even formulate an apology.