He checked a few rooms, the kitchen and living room was warm and comfortable, a stove and a fire oven. a sewing room filled with lots of blankets and outfits for his grandma, and there was a half finished quilt his grandmother was making. Many designs on some of the quilts were full of flowers and Fae wings. He remembers his grandma being a fan of folklore, the warning he was told echoed his head for a moment before he let out a soft chuckle, touching the quilt. “Maybe I should pick up the habit,” he says softly, he was very talented with his hands he came to realize. Cooking and drawing being something he is very skilled at.
There was a room next to it, the door was painted with his name on it, and lots of flowers and leaves. It was his old bedroom. He chuckles a bit as his hand gazes at the walls, it was painted by him and his grandmother. Full of pretty flowers and his silly drawings. “I can draw better now grandma,” he says softly, still holding the urn.
Everything was untouched, but wasn't covered in much dust meaning his grandma had gone into this room a lot. There were drawings littered the walls of him and his grandmother and flowers that he made, making him smile. “I'm sure you would have been proud of me, I wanted to come sooner…” he says gently as he leaves the room, closing the door.
He walked through the halls, seeing photos of him hanging. Something he never saw in his own home, not even his mother or father's office had a photo of him there.
He sighed, as he stepped out into the backyard where more flowers and vegetables reside. He placed the urn down next to him, and looked at the beautiful garden. Being there brought back so many emotions, happiness, love, hope, and sadness. He brought his knees up to his chest and hid his face there to sob softly into his arm and knees. He wanted to scream, but all he could do was sob. It wasn't fair that it was his grandmother who passed, he sometimes wished it was his parents, hell even him at times.