INTRO

Some places keep you.

Even when you’ve left.

Even when you swear you never belonged.

Even when the walls groan like they’re tired of standing.

Shelter isn’t always soft.

It isn’t always safe.

But it remembers you.

This is where the bones of stories are buried—under floorboards, behind heavy doors, in the folds of threadbare sheets. Some are warm. Some still breathe. Some won’t stop knocking.

The pieces in this house are built from what’s been carried too long. The weight of inheritance. The echo of absence. The small comforts we build from what’s left over.

You’ll find the rooms familiar even if you’ve never been here before.

There’s a bed that fits your shadow.

A window that still sticks.

And a hallway that always, always leads you back to the beginning.

Welcome home.

Leave your coat on. You might not stay long