I was about eight and running through my grandmothers big house near the outskirts of the city. It was one of those old, big houses from the turn of the previous century, with high ceiling and long corridors between the rooms.

It was late summer, just before the autumn made its entrance with its chilly air. I lived in a port town and the wind was always blowing wherever you went. But I kind of liked it, it made me feel free.

This day the last summer beams had warmed up the old house, and the air was very still. I was running through the endless corridors with my arms stretched out, pretending I was flying, when I reached the staircase leading to the guest apartments. I wasn't supposed to go there, but I was curious and bored and went up the old staircase anyway.

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