The stairwell had long intrigued me. As a kid I used to marvel at the ornate metal work in the building my Aunty Eunice lived in.
It was one of those that went up a long way, reached a point below the roofline beside a door that led to Auntie’s attic. A room that held a treasure trove.
Aunty was a tad eccentric, she collected things. Red things.
She stored them in this little room at the top of the most impressive of stairwells.
I loved to wander in the attic, curious of the story behind each red item.