Mentally jotting down yet another inconsistency, Penelope felt her frown deepen, so much so that she worried she'd start looking like Aze-... Who was that again? Shaking her head, Penelope returned to her thoughts.
She had lived on the farm her entire life, so why was it that she only now beginning to noticing how strange everything was? The bird's chirped all day from the apple tree's branches, never once taking a moment to eat nor rest. The wheat remained in that constant state of golden perfection, never once changing. And of course her family was suspiciously nice, if such a thing was possible.
Penelope felt bad judging them, but only Cethin showed any real depth. Both parents were two dimensional, always in the same constant mood, like they were unable to express any emotion other perfect love and care. Only Cethin seemed real. Only he had moments of frustration, bursts of childish impatience, quiet spells of sadness.
Penelope shivered, despite the warm breeze.
