⸻ 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙻𝙾𝙶𝚄𝙴

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❛   𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞   ❜

❝ you feel like home. ❞

WASHINGTON — JUNE 2014

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WASHINGTON — JUNE 2014

          HER hands shakily reach up, trapping her braided hair in her hands. Pulling it over her right shoulder, Anastasia forced herself to open the front door to the building. The glass was weighted, feeling heavier due to the dread that sat at the bottom of her gut.

Blinking nervously, Ana winced as the pain still lingered behind her eye.

The carpet floor muted her footsteps. The skinny jeans she wore felt somewhat restricting on her legs. The grey sweater engulfed her body; being two sizes too big. The sleeves went past her hands, but they were pushed back to her wrists.

Approaching the receptionist, she kept her head angled down. "I'm here for Margaret?"

The young women looked up, offering a kind smile. "Last name?"

"Carter."

The receptionist's hand extended to the right, a blue pen trapped between her fingers, "She's down the hall in room three-oh-two. Take this visitors pass, please."

Anastasia nodded in a quiet thanks, taking the small clip-on badge. She kept it in her fist, slowly shuffling down the hallway.

The walls were a pale yellow, picture frames of the residents littered around. The carpet was a darker mustard-yellow, giving it all a 40s feel. She noticed the florescent lights above were still antique; shining an aging yellow instead of the usual white.

Anastasia took a small comfort to the yellow-themed corridor, giving her a strange sense of home.

Wherever home was...

Standing in front of room 302, she clutched the pass tighter in her hand, hearing the plastic covering crinkle under the pressure. With her free hand, she reached forward and slowly opened the door.

"Knock, knock...?" Anastasia softly called, slowly inserting her head inside. "Peggy?"

At the far end of the room was a large rectangular window, allowing sunlight to flood in. The evening sun was partially peaking in, giving the room a warm glow. There was a small cushioned seat to the right, with a small table.

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