Alessia
I crouched down by the wardrobe staring at something. The jewelry box I hadn't opened in years. Not since I stuffed it into the back of the storage unit two cities away from the fake life I lived. Its edges were scratched, the wood worn smooth in places where fingers must have worried at it over time.
The velvet inside smelled faintly of the old cologne my father used to wear. I hated how the scent still clung, pulling me back into the memory I had fought to forget. It was the same sharp, woody note that used to fill the hallway when he came home late, the one that meant he was still himself before everything went wrong.
