Maisey Monroe //top\\ -

At the base of the tree, freshly dug into the earth, was a small hollow. Inside sat a small, leather-bound book. A diary.

They drove in silence, Julian’s sleek sedan cutting through the fog. When they arrived, the fairgrounds were a skeleton of rides and tents being assembled. Workers shouted over the clank of metal. maisey monroe

"I found this last week in the park, near the old oak tree. The one where the county fair used to set up." At the base of the tree, freshly dug

"Keep the diary, Julian," Maisey said, turning back toward her shop. "And next time you come to my store, bring the truth. It’s the only currency I accept." At the base of the tree