The moth is dead.

You hold it in your palm. Its wings are torn. Not torn by wind. Torn by your fingers. You did not mean to crush them. You meant to soothe them. You meant to whisper the old words. The words that make the air taste of iron and copper.

It is quiet in the house. The dust motes dance in the shaft of light from the window. They are indifferent. They do not know they are being watched. You do not know why you are watching them. You only know that the silence is heavy. It presses against your eardrums. It fills the hollow places in your chest.

Elise is asleep in the next room. You can hear her breathing. It is soft. It is steady. It is the only true thing in this world. You love her. It is not a choice. It is a fact. Like the gravity that pulls the dust to the floor. Like the gravity that pulls your blood to your heart.

You look at the moth again. It is a luna moth. Pale green. Ghostly. It looks like a leaf from a dream. It looks like a fragment of your own skin.

You were a man who heard things. You heard the hum in the walls. You heard the pulse in the pipes. You heard the thoughts of the flowers in the garden. They whispered of rain. They whispered of rot. They whispered of the sun’s burning eye.

People called you strange. They called you a witch. They called you a madman. They threw stones. They spat in the street. They locked you in a room with the door barred. They said you were dangerous. They said you were unclean.

You did not argue. Argument is for those who have something to lose. You had nothing. Only the noise. Only the voices. Only the terrible, beautiful knowledge of how things live and die.

Elise saved you. She found you in the alley. She held your face in her hands. She looked into your eyes. She did not flinch. She did not scream. She said, "Come home."

And you came.

You learned to be quiet. You learned to hide the voices. You learned to smile. You learned to say, "I am fine." You learned to pretend that the world was not screaming at you.

But the voices did not stop. They only went deeper. They moved from the surface to the core. They became part of your bones.

Tonight, the voices are loud. They are screaming. They are warning you. They say that the house is sick. They say that the foundation is cracked. They say that Elise is in danger.

You do not believe them. You want to believe them. You want the world to be simple. You want the danger to be outside. You want to fight it.

But the danger is inside. The danger is you.

You look at the moth. Its wings are brittle. They flake under your touch. You feel a surge of grief. It is not for the moth. It is for yourself. You are destroying what you try to save. You are the poison in the cup. You are the crack in the glass.

Elise wakes up. She walks into the room. She is wearing her nightgown. It is white. It is simple. She looks tired. Her eyes are dark.

"What is it?" she asks.

Her voice is soft. It is like water. It is like wind.

"I heard a noise," she says. "In the walls."

You freeze. Your heart stops. Then it starts again. It beats too fast. It beats too hard.

"I am fine," you say. "It was nothing."

She looks at you. She sees the fear in your eyes. She sees the sweat on your brow. She knows. She has always known.

"Are you hurting?" she asks.

"No," you say. "I am fine."

She comes closer. She takes your hand. She holds the dead moth. She looks at it with pity.

"It is just a moth," she says. "It is just a thing."

You want to tell her. You want to scream. You want to say, "It is not just a thing. It is a message. It is a warning. It is me."

But you cannot. If you tell her, she will leave. She will see the monster. She will see the disease. She will leave you to the dark.

So you say nothing. You look down. You look at the floor.

She squeezes your hand. "Let us sleep," she says. "We will deal with it in the morning."

You nod. You follow her to the bedroom. The door closes. The light goes out.

You lie in the bed. You stare at the ceiling. The shadows are long. They twist. They reach for you.

Elise turns over. She faces away from you. You can feel the warmth of her body. It is a comfort. It is a curse.

You close your eyes. You try to silence the voices. You try to find the quiet.

But the quiet is gone.

In the morning, the sun is bright. It is a hard light. It is a cruel light. It exposes everything.

Elise is at the table. She is drinking coffee. She is reading the newspaper. She looks calm. She looks normal.

You sit down. You do not touch your food.

"Did you sleep?" she asks.

"Yes," you say.

She looks at you. She sees through you. She sees the lie.

"Thomas," she says. "There is something you need to tell me."

You swallow. The saliva is dry. It is like chalk.

"I heard the house," you say. "It is crying."

She puts down her cup. The sound is sharp. It is a crack in the air.

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"I mean that the walls are weak. I mean that the ground is shifting. I mean that you are in danger."

She stands up. She walks to the window. She pulls back the curtain. The street is empty. The cars are parked. The trees are still.

"You are sick," she says. "You need help."

"No," you say. "I am right. I am right."

"You are wrong," she says. "You are losing your mind."

"I am not losing my mind," you say. "I am seeing the truth."

"The truth?" she asks. "The truth is that you are afraid. The truth is that you are alone."

"I am not alone," you say. "I am with you."

"No," she says. "You are with your demons. And I cannot save you from them."

She turns to face you. Her face is hard. Her eyes are cold.

"I have tried," she says. "I have tried to be enough. I have tried to be strong. But I am human. I am not a god."

"I know," you say. "I know."

"Then let me go," she says. "Let me live."

You want to stop her. You want to grab her. You want to hold her. But you cannot. You are weak. You are broken.

She walks to the door. She opens it. The light floods in. It is blinding.

"Goodbye, Thomas," she says.

She steps out. The door closes. The latch clicks.

You are alone.

The silence returns. It is heavier now. It is a weight on your chest. It is a weight in your soul.

You look at your hands. They are empty. You look at the floor. The dust motes are still there. They are dancing. They are mocking you.

You stand up. You walk to the window. You look out. The street is empty. The world is moving on. It does not care about you. It does not care about Elise. It does not care about the moth.

You remember the moth. You remember its wings. You remember how you crushed them.

You remember the voices. You remember their warning.

You understand now.

The knowledge was the curse. The ability to hear was the burden. To know the fragility of things is to break them. To see the cracks in the world is to feel the pain of the world.

You cannot fix it. You cannot save her. You cannot save yourself.

You walk to the table. You pick up the cup. It is cold. The coffee is black. It is bitter.

You drink it.

It tastes like ash.

You walk to the wall. You put your hand on it. You feel the pulse. It is slow. It is weak. It is dying.

You close your eyes. You listen.

The voices are gone.

There is only the silence.

There is only the peace.

You smile. It is a sad smile. It is a tired smile.

You let go.

You let go of the need to know. You let go of the need to save. You let go of the need to be.

You sit down. You wait.

The sun sets. The shadows lengthen. The dark comes.

The dark is kind.

The dark is quiet.

The dark is home.