Lydie looked around the remnants of the familiar room. All that remained were the bare bones of the walls, which to be honest were also beginning to break under the pressure.
She stretched her hands outwards, her fingers flitting over the crinkled paper wrapping the walls, embracing it(more)s ancient folds. Closing her tired eyes, she paused for a moment, thinking of the rooms former glory. She thought of her grandmother in the rocking chair, spinning the most wonderful tales of acclaimed adventurers and of her grandfather, who had helped her paint the portrait that used to adorn the south-east wall. She thought of the patch-work sofa and the monstrous rug with its seemingly endless stains.
The sound of bickering brought her back to the present, and she was yet again sorely reminded of the dismal state of her surroundings. It broke her heart, seeing the home like this, if you could even call it that anymore. What broke her heart more though, was how the used-to-be home was torn to shreds; how it was the remnants of her own family that took it apart piece by piece, searching for any and all valuables. She supposed though that they simply did not understand that the valuables of this house were not possessions, and for that she pitied them.(less)