Myrtle

Myrtle poked her head around the corner, only to see the dark, messy interior of the small house. There were papers strewn across the floor, stacks of books every step you took, a dirty handkerchief splayed on a table, and a few dirty articles of clothing hanging over the edge of a washtub. She blinked slowly, then stood in the doorway. She picked up a dark-covered book without a title. Only some strange lines and shapes across the top. Then, she felt a cool breeze, and a deep voice behind her