The Novella Life of Illuscia Nester Himawari

As I stood at the base of the long lane beneath, staring up at my distant destination, I supposed my perceptions of that house were being colored by my recent breakup. The plan had been to attend to our studies in Prague together. Instead, I stood alone against the parching summer winds, studying a lengthy alley that carved its way up the precipit ous hill with an ancient laziness. Lost in brooding need for motion, I ignored my initial unease and slipped into the cramped canyon where that serpentine alley began. The walk was quiet, taxing, and lonely, but passed by without note in a blur of regretful and nostalgic thoughts. I was in another country, but I’d not yet left the old one behind. As I emerged from the narrow shade, sweaty and bitter, the hill’s crowning residence greeted me with a resurgence of disquiet. The high house had once been noble, and sat apart, towering over its environs like an aging patriarch with a tired back. The fourth and highest floor car