“THIS PLACE IS COLD. It will always be cold. So much underneath the floorboards that I did not want to see.” Voice quiet; a thousand whispers that were and were not hers twined together like thread. Frost upon her fingertips that BLOSSOMED against the peeling wallpaper, the rusted iron; gilt gone to ROT, a fate he had denied her. A rest that he had roused her from. Faded silhouette against the grime of the window; a scratched out tin type with blurred features that could be placed if she focused enough. “I see it now. I see it plainly. Just as I see you. You are getting colder, too.”
&& @unyieldng ( because i want to. )














