As Mary sat at a table, writing a romance novel, the fireplace crackled a bit—popping—and repeating the noises..over..and over..

Her eyes stuck on what she was writing as she wrote at a certain pace, it reminded you of a black widow spinning a web from place to another side, as you sat from Affar sketching in your sketch book, with the homemade ink pen.

The silence was very loud and awkward, a sense of uncomfort swarming around you, as you could only hear Mary’s ink dashing across the paper, and your pen scratching against your paper.