The woods started clearing up, and I could see my new home with my eyes for the first time. I couldn't help but cry out at the sight of it. Wendy's memories of it had been too generous. Obviously, the structure was good, but it looked like it had at least twenty years of neglect. The old sky-blue paint had turned brown. Water stains and moss decorated the house like sprinkles on a cake.
The rooftop had seen better days, and tiles were missing. Mishandled patch jobs on the roof prevented leaks, but a bad storm would rip them clean.
These were just the house's changes; I would wait to address the yard. Wendy, why were you so kind when you looked at this house? Her memories made me feel like I was in the wrong place, but I knew this was the Evans family home. That girl saw it as her castle and didn't know any better.
The Evans family had lost the matriarch, Wendy's grandma Carol. Her husband was simply known as Grandpa Evans in Wendy's memory. Their grown children were either dead or left the small town to explore the world. There could be a dozen cousins or none, for all Wendy knew. That meant fixing this house fell on my tiny, underdeveloped shoulders.
"I have my work cut out for me," I muttered as I walked into the house. The bright green door was wide open, and I scanned the home with critical eyes. The faint scent of breakfast tickled my nose, and a smile finally graced my lips. Good food, as always, was the best thing. I eyeballed the pink floral wallpaper and was content with how it didn't peel. Grandma Carol kept the house as lovely as possible before passing away. Like Wendy, there was little she could do physically when she lacked the strength and knowledge of building. Grandma Carol knew how to preserve the inside of her home, and she did a great job, all things considered. She was an older woman, however, taking care of her chair-bound husband and granddaughter while her own health was deteriorating.
"Blessed be Grandma Carol," I said as I took in what a year without her did to the first floor. Wendy, and thus, I was lucky that she was around during my formative years.
I could see the stairs that lead to the second floor from the entrance. In front of the stairs was a small dining table set. It was decorated with a cream cover. A bowl of fake fruit and flowers were placed in the center. From here, I could see dust from the disuse. To my left was the kitchen, and I excitedly looked at the wood stove. The shiny black metal looked new, likely something Grandma Carol scrapped to buy. She wisely trained the young Wendy to tend it and create food that Grandpa Evans could eat. There were four compartments, the most prominent being where the fuel would be burned for heat. There was an arch under the wood stove for firewood storage, but it needs restocking.
To the right, it opened up to the living room. Tiny knickknacks cluttered every available space and shelf, but it didn't look tacky. It made the living room look comfy. I was used to my family's airy, efficient decoration back home. There was no warmth or cozy little nothings. Everything at home had to serve a purpose and fulfill a need. A strange bubble of warmth filled my chest as I poked at a strange-looking red bird with fluffy plumage.
Of course, there was more than just Grandma Carol's favorite knickknacks in the living room. Grandpa Evan's favorite things were here as well. There was a decent-sized flat-screen TV with a love seat, a four-seater couch, and an old lazy boy. Grandpa Evans was sleeping in it, and I walked past him to look at the second-story upstairs.
Like Grandma Carol, Wendy didn't go upstairs and hasn't since her passing. I needed to assess every part of the house to formulate my long-term plan. I had to live in this damned world, after all. Luckily, it was spring, and I could get things done before it got too cold and wet.
The stairs were in decent shape, but I held my breath with trepidation as I went up further. The pungent scent of funk hit me like a book falling from a high shelf. My trepidation turned to a lingering sour sensation that started in my nose and pinged to my heart. Fear. It was a feeling that I wasn't very familiar with, and the shivers of it turned my butt around and right back down the stairs.
The upstairs arguably had the most ground to cover, with the attic being an offshoot. The heaviness of the unknown was something I should tackle when I had a better plan in motion.
I still need to check my most crucial room, my own! My new bedroom was next to the kitchen. Grandma Carol and Grandpa Evans' room was across from mine, and theirs was next to the living room right before the stairs.
Eventually, I might need to go in and see if changes needed to be made, but Wendy's room would be mine after all. I can't trust Wendy's judgment. Her ideas of what was grand were actually dangerous. So, I needed to see the damage firsthand.
I opened my door with reserved hope. My narrowed eyes popped open as a happy gasp slipped out. Her room was cute. Wendy's taste ran close to my own. "Sweet." The wallpaper had intricate red heirloom roses on a light pinkish cream background. I looked to my left and saw her bed. Wendy needed a king-sized canopy bed. Instead, it was a nice, full one. I briefly scanned the assorted patchwork quilt and pillows before looking away.
My gaze was drawn to the love window seat across from me. The pink cushions needed a new cover, and under the seat were drawers. There were silly toys in them, but I would empty them out and fill them with necessities.
Two bookshelves sandwiched the window seat, and I sighed at the pitiful amount of books. They were mostly picture books and random magazines. I walked up to the window and pulled aside the curtains. The bleak brown grass outside greeted my eyes, and I looked away quickly. An excellent, sturdy desk to the right of the entrance drew my attention next. I could accomplish some work here. I moved closer and saw it was littered with drawings.
The slight smile that bloomed on my face withered as I looked at the drawings. Wendy had a life before I came into the picture. She was alive. I picked up a picture where she drew roses that looked identical to the wallpaper. My guilt combatted the sadness as my brain tried to rationalize this all away.
I couldn't recall a Wendy in the main story. Does the book have an Unruly Forest, either? From its inception, the Evans family was tied to the forest, so there would be no forest without them. I prayed silently that this family and forest were created by my brother. Anything else could have some dire moral questions at hand. It was more than probable with his magic, after all.
I gulped hard and turned away from the desk as the total weight of this all finally hit me. I wiped away my wet cheeks and entered the walk-in closet. It was in the far-right corner of the room. I needed to get an idea of what clothing I had to work with next. It wouldn't be a problem if I had my literary powers. I could pull out whatever style of dress I wanted from the stash of magazines Wendy collected.
Racks of worn-down clothing decorated the left and right walls of the closet. There was a small window directly across from the door with a little shelf under it that brought a faint smile back to my lips. It was a nice touch.
Okay, so I started my plan to survive with this better idea of what I had to work on. First, I needed to start with the basics of what was necessary for survival. Food was given first at the top of the list. My new abilities and powers put Grandpa Evans and me in a good position. I still needed to master this power, but I had five years to do so. All I needed was seeds, knowledge, and time.
Clean water was next on the list and something I need to figure out. How to store it and purify it. The space dust was going to pollute water sources. And dehydration killed faster than starvation, after all.
My shelter was third and would cost the most financially. The Evans home needed to be repaired. I need to branch out to get that done. My scrawny, prepubescent body couldn't handle that kind of job.
Avoid the plot of My Adoring Brother had to be fourth. I could not risk getting involved with the male protagonist, his allies, or enemies. Whether or not Wendy Evans is a creation my brother added to this world, there could be trouble. This was a born-again novel, meaning that the male protagonist lived twice. If this was his second lifetime and the Unruly Forest was newly added, there could be trouble. It was best to lock down the forest before the world ended and ensure no one could enter.
Learning how to cook was fifth on my simple bullet-point list. I have never cooked a day in my life. There was never any need to, and even now, I hesitated where to start. I need to learn how to preserve and can food. That wasn't something even Wendy knew fully. Luckily, this was a farming town entirely of such knowledge.
My stomach growled at the thought of food, and I stopped my list to head to the kitchen. It didn't take much puttering around to find the sandwich bread, peanut butter, and grape jelly.
Peanut butter would be an excellent thing to have during the end times. This thought flitted into my mind as I slabbed the thick brown butter onto the bread. Peanut butter contains good stuff like protein, salt, and calories, right? That's just the right thing for survival.
And what about bread? I'd have to learn to make bread if I wanted to eat it later. What was bread even made from? It was made from flour, but how did you make flour? That came from wheat, right? Sure, I could just store a bunch of flour, but I'd have to buy or make it. Can you make flour? I'll have to grind wheat. I could feel my brain racing as I added countless things to my ever-growing mental list.
As exhausting and scary as all this was, I could feel excitement kick my heart into high gear. This may be the first challenge I've ever had in my life. Instead of reading and studying books on how people had adventures, I was having my own. The possibilities are endless! Still, my brother would receive my wrath regardless of whether I enjoyed my time here.
I made two sandwiches, one for me and one for Grandpa Evans. I walked to the living room, where he lay sprawled in his signature chair. I put down the plate on his lap. He stirred under my perusal, and I spent this time looking at him.
Strangely, I didn't have much to go on from Wendy's memory. She wasn't close to him, but it wasn't her fault. He withdrew into himself after Grandma Carol passed away. Grandpa Evans didn't want to do anything besides watch his shows, eat and sleep. Wendy was grieving in her own way, and she spent as much time outside as she could to the point where her hair bleached under the sun's rays.
Grandpa Evans reminded me of an old, gnarled oak tree. He was thicker around his trunk and midsection, but his branches were windy and frail-looking. His roots run deep, however, and his plush seat meshed up to become part of him whenever he sat in it. His fingers curled from rheumatoid arthritis and looked permanently embedded into the chair's arms.
Grandpa Evans stirred when I put down his plate on his lap. He grinned and slowly ate absently. I thought I'd take good care of you as he tucked right into his food.
If my hunch was correct, please let it be; this family was made for me. A child taking care of herself in any world would draw eyebrows, even if this world's idea of independence and schooling was so different. He was a guardian who ran on autopilot, only eating and sleeping. This, more than anything, confirmed my hunch. It was also like the trope where the child protagonist has borderline neglectful family members so their adventures could unfold. Almost every coming-of-age adventure would be over before the first pages began if supervision was in place.
Gus could have at least given me a calm, protective older brother. Not that he'd understand the concept at all. I sourly mumbled some insulting adjective in my head as I headed back into my room.
I munched on my sandwich as I started to go through Wendy's books one-handedly. Out of sheer curiosity, I tried again to access my literary ball of energy as I touched a book…but nada.
I sighed mournfully and returned to categorizing the selection on hand. Aside from the trash mags and picture books, there were recipe books. I browsed through them, and once I was done eating, I started to stack the aforementioned literature into two piles.
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The unnecessary beauty trash mags were leaving. The rest could be kept. No point in getting rid of perfectly good books of any kind, but who cared about gossip rags? Some of these spanned back decades, and Grandma Carol was devoted. It might be possible to trade these antiques.
I left them in their thick pile on the floor and steadily put all the actual books back on their shelves. I spent the rest of the day going through the first floor this way. Anything that could be converted for use or was general trash ended up in a pile in my room.
As I worked, I checked in on Grandpa Evans as he napped and watched his stories. I only poked him when I couldn't hear his softer snores. He really was a simple guy. I replenished his drinking cup as needed and fulfilled my current task.
Eventually, the sun started to go down, and this tiny, weak body slowed to exhaustion. Wendy was a wild child and often ran around all day, but even she had her limits. My stomach reminded me I barely ate, and I headed to the kitchen to remedy that.
After washing and drying my hands, I grabbed the necessary tools for dinner. This was going to be my biggest challenge today. I needed to start the woodstove fire for dinner.
I was more than a little nervous about this task. For starters, I've never done it before, and I was relying on Wendy's memories. My hands shook, and I tried to calm my breathing to steady them and get the tinder going.
Knowing how to do something from memory and knowledge didn't mean I could. It took me time and several mistakes before I got it right. I watched the flames with pride before closing the little door to trap the heat. While the stove heated up, I rewashed my hands as my many mistakes had colored them.
I went through the cabinets with an idea of what was in them already. I soon settled on making macaroni and cheese. The instructions were on the box, but the inner foodie in me thought of adding ham from the fridge.
I pulled up my unique pink stool labeled Wendy for convenience's sake. As the pot of water took its time to boil, I chopped up ham and tossed it and some butter into the boiling water. Wendy's memories made me recall how that prevented the noodles from sticking to the pot.
It took some time for the noodles to finish, and I left the fire on so it could burn out. It was a crisp spring night, and any extra warmth was ideal.
I pulled out a glass milk bottle, and a small smile grew at the farm's name. However, my thoughts and smile disappeared when I thought about how precious and needed milk was. We would require that during the end times. My plan for renovating the home needed to include room and stables for farm animals.
I added the above to my mental checklist to explore and return to the present. I added milk, powder, and extra cheese to the macaroni noodles. The cheesy, melty texture made my mouth water.
Instead of calling Grandpa Evans to the table, I set up a dinner tray for him. He had his bowl of macaroni, some veggies I cut while waiting for the noodles to boil, and a glass of milk. After giving him his tray, I carried over my own to finally look at what he was watching so eagerly.
Grandpa Evans devoured his food. Warm pleasure bloomed in my chest as I watched him. This was the first meal I'd ever made without magic.
I loaded up a spoon and took a hearty bite as I looked at the TV. A heartbeat later, I almost choked. He was watching a Spanish soap drama! I swallowed my food and laughter and sat back to enjoy a show I couldn't understand a word of.
Our meal passed in silence outside the cries of passion on the screen. I couldn't understand Spanish but was enthralled, nonetheless.
Eventually, the day's trials caught up to me, and I drifted asleep. I cleared our plates and tucked Grandpa's Evan's blankets in around him.
It should take me quite some time to fall asleep. At least, that's what I thought at first when I settled in my bed.
What about my spacial ring?
The thought zapped me from sleepy time land with a jolt. I stared at my right index finger in the dark. The shiny stone grabbed onto what light was there and twinkled at me, and I sighed. I had no idea what it would take to utilize the ring. It was basically a new power. Tomorrow, when I have more energy, I will tackle this gift and test my plant abilities more.
I focused almost entirely on the first floor and future plans today. A slight burble of panic grew in my chest. It's okay. I reminded myself. I have five years to get this right. I have time. "I'll show you, Gus," I muttered, wanting him to read this. Once I get out, big brother, I'm going to kick your ass.
I woke to pitch-black darkness that enveloped me. Did I just wake up before the sun? I laid in Wendy's bed flummoxed, and after delaying long enough, I slipped out of bed and took a peek at the grandfather clock in the TV room. The gleam of quality glass gave me the dreaded answer.
I woke up before the sun?! I never wake up before any sun. I stared numbly into the darkness and rubbed my eyes. I was a lazy child who slept until noon and leisurely enjoyed brunch as I read books. Wendy is a programmed morning bird that rises before the sun. This is madness!
I fumbled in the dark to peek out the window. The sun had just started its journey into the sky. "Unbelievable," I muttered eternal grudges and insults for my brother as I started my morning routine. The worst part I realized as I stared at myself in Grandpa Evan's bathroom was that I was not sleepy. Shouldn't I be drowsy and tired?
Nope. Wendy was an energetic oddball. I exited the bathroom about an hour later, less grumpy and clean.
Grandpa Evans spent the night in his chair as expected and was still sleeping when I passed him to start breakfast.
Using Wendy's memory, I started oatmeal after a much quicker go with the stove. I mentally went over my to-do list as I stirred the pot. Today, I needed to tackle the basement and attic to take stock of what we had and what needed to be removed. I needed to figure out how to utilize the ring and go into town if I had time left over.
By the time the oatmeal was finished, Grandpa Evans had woken up. I slipped butter, sugar, and milk into our bowls.
"Morning Grandpa Evans." My voice was much chipper than I wanted it to be.
Grandpa Evans grunted in response.
"I made some oatmeal for breakfast." I handed him his platter containing toast, eggs, milk, and oatmeal. We ate, sitting next to each other in companionable silence. The only thing missing from this moment was some tea or coffee. Neither was in the cabinets, so I would remedy that at the opportune moment.
Grandpa Evans turned on the TV before he even ate his food. I watched him navigate it with surprisingly nimble fingers.
He really loves that TV. I watched him idly, with most of my focus on my food.
Electricity! That is something I'll have to tackle. Is solar power a concept of this world? I racked my brain for a solution and the capital it would take.
All too soon, my brain was filled with plans and ideas, but my plate was empty. I cleaned everything up. Then I took a step back to look at the kitchen, slightly proud of these simple morning tasks. Ha! Bet Gus didn't think I could do this. Look at me doing fantastic despite him.
Okay, back to the day's tasks and time to get my hands dirty again.
I went to the basement, glancing at the stairs that went straight up on my way. I could also see the mudroom with the back exit to the backyard. All places for me to tackle soon.
There was an old, thick door when I reached the bottom of the stairs. I opened it and felt around the wall for a light switch.
I only had a little to go on memory-wise for the basement. Wendy was scared of dark places, and I could feel her body tremble even as I ventured forth. I attempted to push past her fear and flipped the light switch. Thankfully, the basement was completed and well-kept, aside from the dust. There wasn't much to see except random boxes and a door in the back wall. I strode forward with a dry mouth and opened it.
I nearly fainted with delight and Wendy's fear. Shelves lined the walls, and about half were filled with jars. Oh, Grandma Carol. My hands flew to them as I reached forward to examine them. Sauces, pickles, veggies, broths, and even jams. They were labeled meticulously with dates to use. To my right was an indent leading to a small cubby-sized corner. It had a prep table with a stove and a double sink. Some empty mason jars were likely meant to be filled on standby.
I paused at the island table to my left as my attention was drawn by a book that lay on it. A literary witch always goes for the books. I caressed it gingerly, wiping off the dust as I ignored the buckets and jars.
Once it was clean, I examined its contents. A tattered sticky note was on it, instructing me to learn everything I could and care for Grandpa Evans. This book is essential. It was filled with expert insight into vital questions I needed answers to. I held this lifeline to my chest, knowing that some of the tears were from relief and sadness.
"Sorry it took me so long, Grandma Carol, and thank you."
Now, the biggest question. How in the world was I supposed to use the ring? I had no magical energy, just this tangled ball of plant energy. I turn to that burning ball in my chest when all else fails. Even if the energy was different, it was what I knew. I closed my eyes and connected it with the power burning within me. I directed that energy down my right hand and onto my index finger. The ring's band became warm, and I could see my 'space' for the first time.
It's a strange place. Empty. Only nothingness, essentially a black hole of nada as far as my eyes could see. I could fill my empty pocket dimension with whatever I wanted. It was daunting that it was open as far as my little eyes could see.
The book in my arm sunk right into the space at the merest nudge of my desire. The book then appeared by itself, floating in space. A label appearing right below it stated:
Name: Grandma Carol's Farming Heirloom.
Age: 48 years
Life Expectancy: 204 years.
The pocket dimension was supposed to put a pause on time. As long as I kept things in it, they wouldn't expire. I opened an eye and held out a hand toward a random jar. Again, I nudged it with my desire to have it in my space. In a heartbeat, it appeared in my space. My connection was quicker, and I was able to direct it easier.
Name: Grandma Carol's Special Sauce
Age: 1 year and 30 days.
Life Expectancy: 1 year and 50 days.
Perfect. I swallowed a giddy laugh as I battled the urge to suck everything in my sight into my space. I failed slightly as I raised both hands and finger pistoled every jar into my space one by one.
As I took them into the space individually, I gave myself several excuses for this immature behavior. One, they had a limited shelf life, and the expiration is coming up. Two, I can use the space to estimate if time stops completely or just slows down. With the captioned labels, I can keep track of the time rate for anything. Either way, it was all a win-win.
Okay, shit, brother, I was a little less annoyed now. This generous gift was mine for as long as I lived, in the book or out.
I was panting and out of breath by the time I was done. I sat at the island table and laid my head on the dusty table. Oh boy, that took a lot out of me. I gasped as I caught my breath. I didn't have magic and wasn't using my plant manipulation to make the ring work. It wasn't my life force, or I'd start growing white hairs and shriveling up…Was it just pure soul energy? The ring is connected to my soul, and that ball of power that burns in me still has me at its core, just not my witchy magic…My brain and body were too dizzy to ponder over it for long. Once I gained enough energy, I excitedly left the basement and headed straight to the second story. My chest was warm with the burn of empowerment, and my head was too dizzy with possibilities to be concerned about risks.
This was, after all, another place I needed to take inventory and see the damage. The landing was covered in boxes. I could see several doors. From a distant memory, I knew that the one on the left was Grandpa Evans's study. The middle was a bathroom, and the right door was a junk-filled bedroom. Behind me, while part of the landing, were two sofas and a loveseat covered with protective sheets. A dusty but ash-free fireplace sat in the middle of them. It was a cozy little spot that could serve nicely on cold nights.
I walked towards two doors I didn't remember and saw that one was another bedroom filled with boxes. The last door had a fireplace and beautiful wood floors. The windows held a particular light, and I knew I would make this room my library. The only thing standing in my way was dust and the most significant number of boxes I'd seen yet. It was likely due to this room being the biggest that these were just stuffed inside.
You can take the literary powers out of a literary witch and still have a witch who loves books. I inhaled deeply as an image of me lounging flooded my senses. It lingered in my brain as I relaxed briefly and returned to work.
It was with mild relief and a headache that nothing was trash in the landing boxes. Family silverware, albums, and other knit knacks filled the boxes. Too tired to lug them all around, I slipped them all into my space. These belonged in the attic, but whoever wanted them up there couldn't complete it for obvious reasons.
I stepped back into my soon-to-be library. Without batting an eye, I slipped the insane number of boxes into my space. Luckily, these were labeled, so I had a better idea of what I was getting into without opening them. I leaned against the wall to catch my breath and, after I was done, pulled down the attic ladder. I climbed up and was surprised by how tidy everything was. Sure, there were even more boxes, but everything had a place, and the shelves were organized. There were even more decorative things up here, like a broken ornamental tree and seasonal wreaths.
I connected to my space and all the newly placed boxes inside. I imagined them outside of it but organized so it wouldn't disrupt the room. As I did this, I waved a hand and, for the first time, tried to place multiple things from my space outside of it. It didn't look as nicely stacked as I had hoped, but it was great for the first try. I did a little shimmy of joy that was cut short by my aching body. Even though I didn't have to carry everything physically, my body ached from accessing the space so many times. As I suspected, space was like an additional power. I needed to use it like any other and train it like a new muscle. The more I use my space, the better I will adapt to it. Only the genuinely gifted could soar without drawbacks.
So it wasn't surprising that I collapsed on the floor, panting. After catching my breath, I stared at a clothing rack behind some boxes. I, a growing girl, couldn't afford to waste money on buying clothing. I needed to take whatever I could find and grow into it or learn to tailor anything to fit me. Near the rack of clothing was a sewing machine table set. I could even spot one of those freaky headless tailoring mannequins.
I moved closer to inspect this area better and saw that under the table was a box filled with sewing books and templates. As always, finding any book was a good thing.
I went down the ladder and started to tackle the other three rooms. I took only one trip back up this time, hitting all the rooms simultaneously to clear them. Once I returned and dumped my load, I passed out on a dusty rocking chair.