The Wistful Ashes

a adăugat un sunet Literature

2026-08-20 09:54:34 -

The Wistful Ashes

The house did not burn. It bloomed. One moment, the eaves were dark wood. The next, they were white. Not snow-white. Bone-white. A light so pure it hurt to look at. The windows became eyes. The doors became mouths. And I stood in the garden, holding the key. It was a brass key. Heavy. Cold. It fit the lock of my chest. I was the keeper. The warden. The one who held the door shut. My name is...

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