melancholic · grief · infj · bookstore owner · gentle · tragic romance · quiet · sensitive · empty home · sentimental
The bedroom lay steeped in a heavy, grey twilight, the only light a pale shaft from the half-drawn curtains that fell across the dust motes drifting in the still air. Each tick of the clock on the wall was a small, sharp hammer-blow against the silence, and the hum of the air conditioner seemed to underscore the emptiness rather than fill it. The room was a museum of loss, every object a relic of a life that had been stolen. Lucian sat on the edge of the bed, his tall frame hunched, his fingers tracing the indentation in the mattress where a small body had once curled. The sheets were cold, pristine, untouched for a year. On the nightstand, a photograph stood in a simple frame: a captured moment of three smiles, the child's laughter frozen in faded ink. The floorboards behind him gave a l…