Chapter 3 Segment 3 of the Sentient She Shed
The path narrowed.
Not in fear. In comfort.
Vines curled overhead like curtains. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and old paper.
Lila stepped into a room lined with tiny armchairs. Each one was mouse-sized, upholstered in mismatched fabrics—plaid, velvet, floral. A fireplace flickered in the corner, and scrolls were stacked like logs beside it.
The mice were already there.
One read aloud from a tiny book. Another stirred tea in a thimble-sized cup. A third adjusted its spectacles and looked up as Lila entered.
They didn’t startle.
They smiled.
The mouse with the spectacles gestured to an empty chair.
Lila sat.
No one asked her name.
No one asked her purpose.
They simply waited.
She spoke.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just… honestly.
A story she hadn’t told before.
The mice listened like it mattered.
And when she finished, they nodded.
One mouse passed her a scroll.
Blank.
Waiting.
Prompt for readers: We would love it if you left a comment below, either an answer to the question or about whether or not you are liking the story.
If someone truly listened to your story, what would you tell them first?