Crawling on Bruised Hands and Knees {Jack}

Weep not for roads untraveled
Weep not for sights unseen
May your love never end
And if you need a friend
There's a seat here alongside me

There are plenty of reasons why she chose this house in particular. First and foremost, it offered someplace dry and warm- numbers one and two on the Wanda 'Survival Checklist.' Secondly- after five hours of watching well into the night, not a single soul entered nor left the building. Abandoned? Check. Third?

Well it'd be hella nice to crash in a bed for once, and she was fairly certain the house belonged to someone dead.

Her hands tremble as she slips to the front door, slim fingers gently stroking the hardwood surface. She can't tell if this home still has power linked to it, but either way, the storm clouds overhead foreshadow a great storm and the place is at least dry (in some spots, for sure.)

The door swings open on the first try as she twists the gold handle. No sound greets her inside spare for the obnoxiously loud squeak of the frame. It's enough to give her pause, enough to force her to listen to the sounds internal. A foot steps inside, then another. Soon, the door squeaks closed behind her, and she turns to slip the lock into place.

Carefully she maneuvers, not bothering to try the lights. Neighbors could see, and that's definitely not a conversation she wants to have. 'Oh, hey, what are you doing in old man Greyson's house? I heard he died like three weeks ago. He didn't have any family. What are you doing here huh?'

Wanda was used to spending time in old houses, but this neighborhood looked quiet, and she doubted she would have any issues. Carefully, she wanders through the pretty house, taking note of the tools laying around. Maybe someone was in the middle of renovating the old place? She smiles to herself. Of the few districts she managed to visit, she likes two the best.

It was so large, and so busy, she could don a cloak and wander right into the district center and buy goods- like chocolate. Oh gods, chocolate. Burning a hole through her grey backpack the bar remained, pushed to the very bottom of her clothes. The last time she had chocolate was... Years, at least.

The floors creak below her feet as she carries on, the dark lights overhead remaining off. Her ears strain for any instance of life- be it animal, or human. To her delight, she hears nothing. No dog, no breathing, no screams of 'Call the peacekeepers.'

That was a funny story.

Slender hands search, until they find the soft fabric of a couch. She inhales deep- the taste of decay is fresh in the air. Not death, just old wood. Yes. Perfect. She deposits her bag onto the soft cushions of the couch and sits, pulling, dragging out a lightweight wool blanket.

She stretches her legs out, and relaxes, pushing her backpack below her head like a pillow and sighs in complete and utter contentment. Absolutely perfect. Her breaths come in shallow at first, then deepen as she allows herself to succumb to the sweet embrace of sleep.

Still a bit twitchy, Wanda allows herself for once, to dream.

And you held it all but you were careless to let it fall
You held it all and I was by your side, powerless