The house was tense when I stepped through the door, which was weird, because doors shouldn't be tense. The moment my foot touched the floor, the wood didn't creak—it growled at me like I was some type of intruder.
Even the wallpaper was rippling like it had something to say, and every hallway felt too long and too silent.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose as I prayed to myself for more patience. However, since I was praying to the Devil, there was no way that was going to happen.
Was it really too much to ask to not have my house throw a temper tantrum every other day?
"Papa, I swear, if you told the house to give me a dramatic welcome—" I started, narrowing my eyes as I looked over my shoulder.
"I did no such thing," he replied, sauntering in behind me with moss in his hair and what looked like a jungle lizard riding on his shoulder like a pirate parrot. "The house just has a flair for the theatrical. It gets it from you."
