Emma furrowed her eyebrows as she appeared in front of her house with Prescott. It seemed like ages since she had been here. The white house still remained the same. There were no signs of anything peculiar or extraordinary. It was just there. But that wasn't why she had thinned her gaze; no, it was the darkness of the night. Hadn't it been a few minutes past six that they had disappeared from Lily's room? So, why was it dark here like it was half past seven?
"Prescott…" She called the squirrel, turning aside to look at him, but balking when she didn't see him or smelt him. What the hell! Had the squirrel just dropped her here, and left? Had Zipfarah commanded him to do so? Why couldn't she even scent him? That was weird. She thought, feeling a variety of emotions. There was anger and sadness, there was disappointment already, and of course, fear. All around her, there was dead silence, eerie silence. It felt creepy for some reason, scaring her the more.
