(Based on a dream.)

What a beautiful house! A big lovely Victorian, extensive gardens, period decorations, everything delightful. I'm so glad we found out about this.

I wander from room to room, savoring every detail, and when the people from the historical society ask me if I have any questions, I tell them "No, I'm good, thank you." They smile, they understand. Thats why they're here; they're like me.
 I love old houses. Really any old place, but houses especially. There's a certain kind of wonder about them, the thought of  "What romantic and interesting things may have transpired here?" I'm not so interested in the history as I am in the stories.

   I walk around, gazing at portraits of women with brooches at their throats and lace on their dresses. I peer at old china and the intricate scrollwork on an old table. All of it old, yet each item holding some new bit of fascination.

 Lost in reverie, I suddenly realize I've become separated from my sisters. There doesn't seem to be anybody in this wing of the house...and where are the ropes, the little information plaques? I don't think I'm supposed to be here.

I come into what seems to be a drawing room. I notice that the decor tends towards light purple. It's a very pretty room, definitely. But...who is that? An old lady, seated demurely on a chair, sipping tea. On a small table in front of her is a silver tray with a teapot, sugar, a creamer, another cup and some kind of snack.
She looks up and doesn't seem surprised to see me. Is it just me or is she wearing period clothing? I glance down at myself to make sure I'm still in jeans and not petticoats. What is going on?
  "Care for some?" she asks sweetly, and holds out the other teacup. Suddenly it seems the most natural thing to join her for tea. So I do.
"What is your name, dear?" she asks as I sit down. I do so gingerly, for fear the chair, certainly an antique, will collapse under the unaccustomed weight. 
"Katie," I say. I do not ask hers. I'm not sure why, but I do not feel any need to know it.
She smiles and pours my tea. "Sugar?"
"Yes, please."

   We talk. I find myself telling her everything about my life, my friends, my family. She listens, nodding, smiling, asking occasional questions. I'm completely at ease and feel as though I've always known her. She tells me too about herself, her friends, her family. She even shows me an old black and white photograph of her entire family. They seem a solemn set, but she tells me they were quite merry.
  I could sit there and talk to her forever. But my sisters walk into the room, and I realize I must have been there for an hour or two. They say, "Time to go, Katie. Mom's already in the car." My friend seems sad that I must go. I promise to come back, and hope that I will be able to.
I glance at her over my shoulder as I leave the room. She looks so lonely.
I must go back soon, but something tells me that sadly, I never will.