Treehouse.

The moment you walk into this room, you're struck by its awkwardness. It's rather small and slightly messy. Things are scattered about and the furniture is cramped together. The walls are covered in pictures: drawings, polaroids, antique frames with black && white photographs, and posters of old paintings. The floor creaks with movement and in the stirring of the weather. Leaves and branches shuffle on the outside of the walls. The windows open with wooden flaps, and the curtains stir as a breeze blows through. A table sits beside a window. Upon it rests a melted candle, an old book and a notepad covered in writing, and withered petals from a flower long since passed away. A couch rests along one wall, a cot in another corner. A beanbag sits in a corner beside the couch. And a chair stands beside the trap door. Piles of books are stacked throughout the room. Crayons, stickers, empty coffee mugs, and various items lie around the room. You feel comfortable here. .......... (You hardly remember this place anymore. It may even be haunted. How long ago that you lived and visited here.) ....................... The darkness of night surrounds you. A warm breeze stirs in the grey morning light.

jessica (mumbling in her sleep.) is here. Exits: