• DISCONTINUED • Between the Perennial Blooms || Paul Lahote
The persistent drizzle was the first thing Bailey Swan truly noticed about Forks. Not the towering, ancient trees that seemed to swallow the sky whole, nor the quiet, almost melancholic hum of the town itself. Just the rain. It had been a constant companion since her arrival, a soft, insistent whisper against her windowpane, a dull thrum on the roof of Charlie’s cruiser.
She sat at the small kitchen table, tracing the condensation on her glass of water. Her father, Charlie, was already gone, having left for the police station hours ago. The house felt too quiet, too empty. It was still so new, this life in Forks, this existence without the familiar chaos of her previous homes.
From the window, she could see the mist clinging to the evergreen branches, a thick, damp blanket that never seemed to lift entirely. It was beautiful, in a wild, untamed way, but also isolating. She wondered if she’d ever truly get used to it, to the perpetual twilight of the Pacific Northwest. A sigh escaped her lips, barely audible in the quiet room. She picked up a worn paperback from the table, its pages soft from countless readings, and tried to lose herself in its familiar words, seeking refuge from the unfamiliar quiet of her new home.
