This is another #sagatime. Or, when I write a story on Twitter on the spot. This concept was stolen from the wonderful Joanne Harris.

My follower count there has doubled since Christmas. Which is amazing. It has also doubled here, which is equally amazing. I mean, my blogging isn’t exactly consistent. It’s way too weird for that.

So THANK YOU!!!! *throws confetti*

~

Once upon an old Victorian mansion there lived a boy and a girl who fell in love. They married and moved into the mansion, and they were happy there.

But one day, the boy said: “This house is so old.”

And it was. The roof was weathered; the floorboards creaked; the corners of the rooms were dark and never saw the light of day. The girl agreed, and they decided to rebuild the house into one that was absolutely perfect.

So they began to draw the floor plans. But there was a problem.

The girl wanted a place to read and be alone. She wanted a library filled with books and art. She wanted stained glass windows.The boy wanted sweeping hallways and crystal chandeliers, a glass dome for a skylight: a palace. A castle.

And they started to argue. You could hear them at night, yelling at each other: “But I want—”

They finished the plan mostly satisfied, but the library was crammed into a corner, and the hallways twisted strangely.

Construction started, tearing down the beautiful mansion. They rented a house in the city. Decisions flew past — what furniture? Interior design? Windows, doors, curtains? Lights? Cabinets, floorboards?

They argued more and more, invoking long-dead ancestors in their quest for forcing upon the other their opinion.

The foundations were built, then the walls. At the same time, their silences became more awkward, and the space between their hearts widened.

Construction on the roof started. They designed the glass skylight together, working in forced harmony.

They sent in the patten of the dome. On it were birds, flying into the blue void of the sky. It was beautiful. The girl looked at it and longed for the completion of the house— and the end of the tension in their apartment. The boy said nothing.

At last the dome was installed. The final little decisions they had avoided for so long rushed in. And once again the apartment was filled with argument until midnight.

Finally, the walls were painted, the curtains installed, and the boy and the girl stepped into their rebuilt house. The girl had her library. The boy had his crystal chandeliers. The house was a masterpiece, more perfect in reality than on paper.

But at the same time something had broken between them.

They spent their time hiding in the nooks and crannies they had put into the floor plan themselves, avoiding each other. They didn’t speak to each other anymore.

For though the house was perfect, their hearts were not.

Their hearts were broken.

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