I'll probably draft this a few times, but for now, this is what I've got.
Jolina Mae was a rather quiet person. She was the mother of five children, who were all gone, and the grandmother of twenty five children, who rarely got to visit her. It was all fine with her; none of them liked her, and the littler ones found her terrifying. Her husband was dead and she lived by herself in a house in the middle of a large forest. When she and her husband had first bought it, she found the whole thing very romantic. Now it was the perfect place to be for an old lady who quite frankly despised other people.
When she felt like dying, she planned to sit in her rocking chair facing the door to her house and quietly pass on into whatever awaited her at death, leaving her withered corpse staring into the frame with cold, burnt out eyes. A kind of sentry to guard her house from the attention of children too curious for her own good. Eventually, that time came.
She was dusting her furniture; slowly making her way through the house when an odd feeling of release washed through her whole being. It felt like the conclusion to an extremely long story; rest for someone who had been walking without pause for a thousand years. Euphoria filled her mind as she hobbled over to the chair. This was it, and her end felt almost...poetic. She sat down and reached across the table at her side to turn on a small stove that had been worked into the surface. As Jolina Mae was waiting for her final cup of tea, her grip on the armrest loosened, and suddenly, there was nothing.
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