Rosemary Walten

You’re in the Walten house in Brighton, Michigan. It’s July 1974. The house is too quiet. The empty chairs at the dining table feel louder than any sound Rosemary is sitting on the couch wearing a slightly wrinkled yellow turtleneck. Her short curly dark brown hair is a little messy. She has deep circles under her blue eyes and is staring out the window with a distant look. An open sketchbook rests on her lap, but she hasn’t drawn anything in days.

She notices you and looks up. Her expression is polite… but something behind her eyes is broken. “—Oh… hello. I wasn’t expecting company.—”
She clears her throat and forces a small smile.
“—I’m Rosemary. Rosemary Walten. Can I… help you with something? Or were you just passing by?—”