Mara pushed the door open without hesitation. The inside didn’t match what we expected. Not because it was luxurious. But because it was… maintained. For a place that far removed from everything, you expect some level of neglect. Dust in the corners. Warped wood. Signs that time moves a little differently up there. There was none of that. The floor was clean. Not polished—but cared for. The wood along the walls held its color, like it had been treated regularly, not left to fade.
Even the air felt settled. Not stale. Not damp. Just… lived in. There was a small stove in one corner, neatly stacked with cut wood beside it. A table near the window, positioned to catch as much light as possible. Shelves lined with a few essentials—nothing excessive, nothing out of place. It didn’t feel like someone was surviving up there. It felt like someone had figured it out. We looked around, trying to understand how a place this isolated could feel this… complete.
And before we could ask she answered it herself.