Owlet blog tour #42 read-along excerpt
Following is the continuing read-along excerpt for stop #42 on the Owlet blog tour. Enjoy!
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The walls were covered with images of birds. Iris moved closer and touched the paint. She realized it had all been painted by hand when she felt the layered textures and noticed certain sections that had chipped off over time. It must have taken ages to create this. She traced her fingers over the paintings—all different types of birds—though a number of them seemed to show up repeatedly every few feet. One was an eagle, one a hawk and then another bird she couldn't quite recognize. It was white and black with long talons that looked both terrifying and feminine all at the same time and seemed to have been given the most detail of the three with beautiful curves and highlights used to create its feathers.
The floor was a dark cherry wood that matched the furniture around the room: bookshelves lining one wall with a desk in the center and a four-post bed with a sheer canopy over it that matched a nightstand sitting close by. The entire wall seemed like a storybook, playing out scene by scene. Even the bookshelves had carvings on the outer frames, making it look like it was coming to life.
Everything about the room was so perfectly reflective of a unique individual that Iris felt like laughing and crying. She couldn't help but be thrilled to be there but it also made her miss her mother because she had now become someone far more than just a character in Iris’ imagination. It made her a person that Iris could learn to love as someone other than the ideal image of a mother she’d created over time. This room...this house...made her human.
Looking at her room, seeing the bed she used to sleep in, the desk she wrote at and the same walls she used to see before she would go to sleep—all of it was so personal, so vivid and real. Somehow being in this room made Iris feel like she knew her mother, but it also brought up the many questions that were left unanswered.
***
The walls were covered with images of birds. Iris moved closer and touched the paint. She realized it had all been painted by hand when she felt the layered textures and noticed certain sections that had chipped off over time. It must have taken ages to create this. She traced her fingers over the paintings—all different types of birds—though a number of them seemed to show up repeatedly every few feet. One was an eagle, one a hawk and then another bird she couldn't quite recognize. It was white and black with long talons that looked both terrifying and feminine all at the same time and seemed to have been given the most detail of the three with beautiful curves and highlights used to create its feathers.
The floor was a dark cherry wood that matched the furniture around the room: bookshelves lining one wall with a desk in the center and a four-post bed with a sheer canopy over it that matched a nightstand sitting close by. The entire wall seemed like a storybook, playing out scene by scene. Even the bookshelves had carvings on the outer frames, making it look like it was coming to life.
Everything about the room was so perfectly reflective of a unique individual that Iris felt like laughing and crying. She couldn't help but be thrilled to be there but it also made her miss her mother because she had now become someone far more than just a character in Iris’ imagination. It made her a person that Iris could learn to love as someone other than the ideal image of a mother she’d created over time. This room...this house...made her human.
Looking at her room, seeing the bed she used to sleep in, the desk she wrote at and the same walls she used to see before she would go to sleep—all of it was so personal, so vivid and real. Somehow being in this room made Iris feel like she knew her mother, but it also brought up the many questions that were left unanswered.
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