As much as it hurts me to say this, you're no longer welcome here. This is not your house, this is not your home. I see you gloat from the corner of the room. One foot in the light of our realm and my heart is burnt out already.
She gulps the few breaths she can take with her, immerging herself in the bed, head only above the sheets. No raft, no wind. Soon the A to start all absences. Her own. Down. Calm. Breathe. Absolute The incarnate. Every night the same feeling. Gasping for help never drowning.
Who is that character from children's book sitting in the twilight of our breached shell? The unknown of all early memories. A darkness that keeps spreading the longer you fix it. A low rumble pounds and swells yet never bursts.
Maybe if we read one more story together I'd know.