The mansion didn’t look old, yet I felt the oldness. The oddness. The otherworldness. Did I believe in ghosts? Not a word. And yet, I stood, pressed to rusted metal, staring, longing so hard tears could not help but come.
Waiting.
Night settled. The moon rose, pale crescent in the sky. Wind rustled bone-white leaves. Would it be now? Was this it? The moment for which I longed? The end of my journey?
Home?
Night passed. Dawn came. Like so many hundreds of mornings before, I turned and walked away.
A Writer's Life 
Otherworldly indeed. She sounds lonely
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Been searching for so long with no end in sight. Thanks.
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You render the atmosphere beautifully
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Thank you so much.
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Great descriptive intro to your story.
Need more words than 100 for a clearer view.
Isadora 😎
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Thanks. That’s the fun of 100 words:)
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Intriguing and melancholy. I presume she’ll be back until she finds what she’s waiting for
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Most likely. Thanks.
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Great atmosphere and description. The loneliness screams at the reader.
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Thank you.
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