The Eldest Daughter's Room

Lyrics

Up from the first floor silence, leaving the ghosts of conversation behind.
The grand staircase curves like a question I'm afraid to ask. Second floor landing.

The door to the Master Bedroom is closed. A line of yellow light beneath it, a history I don't need to read tonight. Past the Nursery, where the walls still smell faintly of milk and linen, a life before this one. I don't look in. Not today.

I pause at the threshold. To the left, the Son's Room, smelling of wood polish and old leather. A different country. But I turn right. To you. Always to you. My hand on the cool brass knob. It knows the shape of my palm, or I've learned the shape of its memory.

And here you are. Or here is the space you left behind. A frame for a life. The air is thin, tasting of dust and dried lavender. Your window holds the last of the evening light, and in its reflection, the room contains a perfect, smaller copy of itself. Waiting.

The wallpaper roses have faded to ghosts of pink. I remember them blood-red, or I remember you telling me they were. Under the rug, your name is carved into the floorboard. A secret kept from the polish, from the years. The dance card from 1939 is still pinned to the corkboard, its pencil script a faint blue nerve. You danced with ghosts even then.

That sound. It has no source. But it has a weight. The page turning is the cool, silver heaviness of the locket you left in the drawer, resting in my palm. A sound I can hold. A memory I can feel.

And here you are. In the space you left behind. A frame for your life. The air is thin, tasting of dust and decisions made. Your window holds the night now, and in its reflection, the room contains a perfect, smaller copy of itself. Watching.

In the corner, the dollhouse. A perfect model of this mansion. And through its tiny window, this very room. A tiny bed, a tiny chair. And a tiny doll, her face turned to the window, looking out at me. And in her room, the smallest dollhouse. And on and on. Until the looking is the thing being looked at. Until the room is just a mirror, holding another mirror. Forever.