dahlia palmer (blindingly) wrote in horror_story, @ 2013-02-11 18:27:00 |
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The smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies wafted through the cozy little house as Dahlia busied herself in the kitchen. It looked as though some kind of flour-filled bomb had gone off, but since Dahlia couldn't see the mess, she didn't seem to mind. Why she decided to make the cookies from scratch instead of buying the store bought ones was even a mystery to her, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Anyone could go and buy some Pillsbury cookies; she wanted to surprise Sully with something special. When the oven sounded its final ding, signaling that the baking cookies were finished and ready to be taken out, Dahlia carefully wrapped her hands in a nearby towel and sat the sheet on the counter.
Five minutes later, she was precariously balancing a plate full of hot cookies in one hand and a glass full of milk in the other as she made the delicate journey up the stairs. Sully had insisted that they didn't need a house with stairs if it was an issue, but Dahlia fell in love with the description of the home at once, and there'd been no persuading her otherwise. She always wanted a yellow house with white trim -- she just didn't let herself dwell on the fact that she couldn't see the dream home they lived in. Some days, she made Sully talk about the house with meticulous detail. She didn't seem to mind the task.
Finally, and with a triumphant sigh, Dahlia made it upstairs. From there, all she had to do was nudge their bedroom door open with a hip. Assuming that Sully was still asleep (she ascended earlier to lie down for a nap), Dahlia tried to keep her footsteps light and unobtrusive as she sat the tray and glass on their bedside table.
"Sully?" she asked, her voice low. "You awake?"