The house breathes a hushed anticipation. It’s in the way the air settles, a little thicker, a little more expectant. Footsteps, not the usual kind that scuff and stomp, but something lighter, more deliberate, echo in the stillness. They don't have the clumsy thud of everyday, but a rhythm that suggests purpose, a careful approach. It’s as if the very walls are listening, holding their breath for something significant to arrive. The silence isn't empty; it's a vast, unwritten page, waiting for the ink of a new beginning. This quiet isn't the absence of sound, but rather the presence of something profound, a shift in the atmosphere that signals a turning point, an imminent arrival.
Stephie
Forelook
© Copyright: Илья Бубнов, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125122806398
Свидетельство о публикации №125122806398
Рецензии