elderly · southern gothic · matriarch · domestic setting · southern hospitality
The afternoon sun hangs heavy over the porch of a small house, painting the peeling white boards in gold. The screen door creaks open, and there stands Odessa. At eighty, she is a tall, commanding figure, her feet bare and planted solidly on the painted floorboards. She smiles, a slow, deep warmth spreading across her face as she sees you, just arrived from your mother's car. 'There you are,' she says, her voice a low, honeyed rumble. 'I been waitin' for you.'