Holm
During those times, no one could ever really tell when another was aroused. People didn't even hold eye contact until 1930. But Isla was definitely not aroused, although it was an arousing habit. Her mother died just three months earlier. It started the night she left home and got situated in her grandfather's not-so-humble abode.
Isla took the last room on left in the east wing of the house where her grandfather's massive statue of Fredrika Bremer stood in the corner of the corridor. Most every time she would go downstairs, in only a white pinafore, she would first mount the statue's base and pull herself upward. Staring dully into Fredrika's glazed white eyes, she straddled the marble woman, rubbed herself up against it and kissed its lips with her own. Her grandfather never caught her because the crush of young, pink flesh against cold, smooth rock doesn't make a sound.
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