Chapter 9 · free to read
She went looking for her own family in a tin box, the way she would have gone looking for a source. She found them.
She had posed with it. That was the detail that broke something in Meera. Not hidden, not shamed — posed with, the way another family poses with a plough.
The house answered before Meera could. Every vessel in it came to a boil on a dead hearth, and stayed boiling for an hour.
If the well had called her home by blood, she reasoned, then she would burn the blood-line out of the house and see what happened. Something happened.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.