The Wistful Silence
The house settles into the earth with a groan that sounds less like wood contracting in the cold and more like a bone breaking, a slow, tectonic shift that you feel in the marrow of your teeth before you hear it in the air. You are sitting in the kitchen, a room that has always been the center of your gravity, the place where the light used to be gold and warm and now is a pale, spectral blue,...
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