The paper on the shelf curled around the edges, the damp penetrating every document and book, every loose sheet until they were thick with moisture.
After the damp set it, then followed the mould, the splotches of black crawling over the ceiling and down the wall, up the other side. Droplets of water forming on the paint, running down to puddles on the floor.
And then the green came, creeping, creeping, like the dust of a nuclear fall out, the fur silently invaded every surface.
It came so quickly and so relentlessly it was impossible to keep up. Clothes worn the week before gained and extra layer, a change of colour.
Every material, every surface, leather to wood, material manufactured or natural, nothing was safe, nothing immune. Only warmth of summer would defeat this alien.