Artist at The Daughter’s Inn

I came to The Daughter’s Inn for some time alone. My friends say I always seem like a delicate flower, floating from place to place, which always surprises me. I feel so pulled to the ground, not even rooted, like a flower tipped over and stepped on, but not broken enough to die. Just alive enough to hurt, and hurt, and hurt.

 

I think people don’t see that because I always kind of disappear when I’m in a group. They are all talking to each other, sharing stories. I know I’m included, but it’s like my brain just tunes them out. I start doing something else, like drawing, and they let me and talk over my head. Why should they call my attention? I’m not listening anyway.

 

The Daughter’s Inn is weird because there’s no internet here. My cellphone has so little signal my texts won’t send half the time. This place is so quiet, I almost feel like I am being absorbed into the walls. When someone comes in later, they will probably find no one in the room. I would have disappeared altogether.

 

Meij and Pearl recommended The Daughter’s Inn because they’ve been here before. They said I should come, and I went. Meij our alpha female is already scary, Pearl is immovable. They loaded me with paper and all the uni pens I could ever need, and told me that they needed drawings of the place. Maybe I will draw–Pearl said she needs drawings of our characters for our AU. I can do that.

 

I’m on the Eastern side of the house, facing the sunrise. Meij ordered me to stay here, so I’d wake up in the morning. Fine, I know she’s annoyed at how late I wake up every day, but she doesn’t need to make it that obvious. Also, there’s this thing they both told me, more times than I can remember: Tea time is always at four.

 

“Tea?” I asked them. “Like in Sherlock?” “With eyeballs in it,” they assured me. “Do I have to speak in a British accent?” I asked. “If you want,” Meij said. She rolled her eyes at the same time. “And raise your pinky,” Pearl urged. I was laughing, but I didn’t want to go.

 

I arrived kind of late in the day, after wasting time in the small town and the college grounds. I wanted to hate The Daughter’s Inn, but I shouldn’t have come at sunset time. The large farmhouse faces the West, and the sun lights it up like a picture when you’re walking down the path. I took a picture right there from the path, and I’ll paint it later.

 

As it turns out, I was just in time for tea. Four kids were in front, welcoming us and giving us a short history of tea time at 4 in the afternoon. They were so cute, I took another picture. I think I’ll draw them as my thank-you gift. There were no eyeballs in the tea á la BBC Sherlock, no one was speaking in a British accent, but my soul just soaked in the large beauty of everything. I think I will draw here.

 

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