All The King's Horses, All The King's Men
On most mornings in her retirement, Twisted Ivy rose gently with the sun, with golden light spilling into the windows and prompting her eyes to open. It made mornings like this particular one interesting, as she awoke with a start as something crashed through the upstairs loft and landed in a splatter of broken boards, loose straw, and a cloud of dust that rose like a phantom in the early morning
