It wasn't the grand white spiraling staircase that caught the eye. Nor the marbled grecian pillars that stood tall and firm. Not even the house itself, which holds many a secret. These things might catch the eyes of buyers and spenders and money makers, but not even all the gold and silver -just make that all the riches in the world- that the universe could hold would shift you from what was to be seen.
There, in that solitary room where light is a blessing upon itself, a rarity if you may, sits a lone, low square table. A fin layer of dust as its blanket from nothing. And at its side, a trifling chair stood proud as a kings throne. The color the magnificent chair once was... forgotten. Taken along by Time himself. Those were not the only things in the small sparse room.
There, resting proudly; that which couldn't be compared to anything, sat the unpretentious teacup. The smooth delicate handle -even in its own right, it was an elegant masterpiece- gliding effortlessly into the cup. Its white porcelain still shiny, while its simple pink rose floral design was impeccable. Perfect. You could tell this teacup was well looked after; for a young girl lay her head down, never leaving the teacups side.