for most people, a home is a structure with four walls and a roof. for phoebe whittemore and isaac lahey, their homes were each other. their homes were their lover's hearts.
[book is not finished, just protecting it from wattpad lol]
ISAAC LAHEY X...
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♛
𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨, she lost feeling of the hard floor of the police station. Instead, she was now lying on something soft, the atmosphere around her was calmer, quieter.
The last thing she had remembered was seeing the fear in Matt's eyes before she lost consciousness. Now, as she opened her eyes, she saw what looked to be a ceiling. It was white and had pieces of wood framing it in an old style.
Her fingers closed into her palm, bunching up the comforter beneath her body. At the realization that this was not her bed, Phoebe shot up, accidentally flinging herself off of the bed. She landed on the floor with a loud thump.
Outside, Margaret Miller watched her best friends Talia and Elizabeth play chess. The latter was trying to cheat, but every time Talia caught her, she'd end up in a laughing fit. "I would never do that to this precious game of ours," Elizabeth would giggle, covering her red face.
Talia's smile fell from her face when she heard labored breathing coming from inside the house, instantly, she was alert. "Tal? What is it?" Elizabeth asked, gaining Margaret's attention as well.
"Someone is here," She responded, making eye contact with Margaret, who smiled softly.
The blonde stood up from her spot on the grass, brushing off her pants, "I'll go look, I'm sure it's just someone who accidentally came here. It's happened before," She shrugged it off, going inside of the house.
She checked the main floor first, finding nothing. Then, she went to the second floor. There were three rooms upstairs, Elizabeth had shown her closest friends a house like this before they passed, it became their place after death.
Each room was designed differently. Different colours, different styles, each to fit the rightful owners.
Talia had a dark green room, with a dark brown accent to it. She said it felt like being in the woods again.
Elizabeth's walls were light brown, the accent colour was an even lighter shade of brown. "The twins' nursery was just like this," She had explained.
Lastly, there was Margaret's room. Hers had an older style to it, especially when it came to the frames. She had no emotional reason for it. She never knew her children personally. Or really what her life truly was, being wrapped up in her husband's mess, she never focused on herself.
The door was in front of her, and she hesitated; Margaret Miller hesitated. It was a rare thing for the woman to do, especially seeing as she was always one to take the risks and never hesitate.
"Who's there?" She heard a quiet, weak, voice call out from inside. Margaret must've hesitated long enough for the person intruding to hear. "Please, I don't understand," The voice called out, even weaker than before.
