Chapter 12 · free to read
Nine names in her hand. The tenth line blank on the paper, and written in the glass.
A clean tear. Old. Done with the same knife that scored the floorboards.
The glass keeps what we take away. That is the only thing it has ever done.
I had expected a stranger. I had expected the little one from the well. I had not expected the name I say a hundred times a day.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.