Wordcount Wednesday

"Once upon a time, there was a girl. Forgotten and weary of the wind that blew ticklish strands of pale amber hair onto her nose, she sat in the corner of the only place as forgotten as she was that she knew. Did that make any sense to you? It didn't to me either. Her name was probably Alice and she probably wished that an old Victorian mantle mirror would whisk her off to wild and wacky adventures involving flamingo cricket sticks and hedgehog balls. In fact, she would have been content with the Victorian mantlepiece alone, but as it was, our Alice was really much too old to fit into a mantle mirror, much too big to fall down a rabbit hole of any sort (rather, getting stuck before she even began, with elbows and knees caught on poplar roots and her skirt snagged on a earthling rose bush, by nature painted neither red nor white but orange."

- From the crazy opening

"From the front, the way that most people are introduced to the Bronnydd, the timber frame entryway reaches out in a most friendly and beguiling manner. A bellhop would take your bags, and, depending on your degree of eminence, the manager might come out to usher you inside, smiling all the way. If you arrived in the afternoon daylight, the cool dark interior of the hotel might render you a bit disoriented, but that is half of its charm. Before your eyes adjust, the other bodily sensors take their turn. Breathe in deeply and catch those earthy nuances of cedar and pine. Feel the comforting solidity of a well mortared stone floor beneath your feet. Allow you fingers to take delight in the smooth curves of the manager's desk as you lean against it to get your bearings. Do you hear that ripple of sociable chatter, drifting in from the piazza where teacups clink in turn? Drink in the precious silence guarded by granite walls nigh three feet thick. And what is that? The cozy crackle of a flame spitting on the hearth. Yes, there it is. Turn and see it lighting up a pair of deep leather armchairs, one with a book of poetry resting on its yielding arm. Someone has left their hat there too, a turkey feather stuck gaily in the rim."

- From the 2nd person stage. Things are more normal now that we've got our setting! But sadly, unquotable.