Written for The Scribe’s Cave. All you need is 50-200 words about the picture prompt to take part. My offering begins after the picture.
Jess loved this old manor house, despite its state of disrepair. There were dozens of rooms where she and Daif, her grandfather’s stable boy, spent hours exploring and going on quests. She never wanted things to change.
Orphaned when she was eight, she’d been sent to live with her grandfather, whom she adored. He’d indulged her and allowed her to run wild but climbing down a rope to the stairs had turned the rest of his hair grey. ‘Jess, you’re almost twelve. You have to stop leaping and climbing like a boy, you need to grow up.’
Jess laughed. ‘Oh grandfather, I’m never growing up.’
This was her castle and the only other place she loved as much were the stairs overlooking the mist shrouded valley. She’d been climbing down ever since she’d been old enough to tie a rope around the balustrade and swing down to sit on the stairs and listen to the wild birds calling to one another and dream dreams she knew would probably never come true.