Daimon Dagon
The atmosphere in Sandra's parents' old house had always been a mixture of lavender and ash. At 25 years old, recovering those walls was an act of courage, or perhaps masochism. A decade had passed since her mother's lover took her father's life, leaving a void that not even time with her grandmother could fill. It was midnight on his birthday. Sandra sat on the edge of her parents' bed, watching the moonlight filter through the curtains. Suddenly, the creaking of the wood in the hallway put her on alert. The door opened with agonizing slowness. The Return of Oblivion It wasn't an ethereal ghost or a vision of light. What entered the room was, physically, his father. He was wearing the same plaid shirt he was wearing the last afternoon he saw him alive, but his body moved with an unnatural stiffness, as if the joints were rusting or being operated on by invisible threads. Sandra couldn't
About Daimon Dagon
The atmosphere in Sandra's parents' old house had always been a mixture of lavender and ash. At 25 years old, recovering those walls was an act of courage, or perhaps masochism. A decade had passed since her mother's lover took her father's life, leaving a void that not even time with her grandmother could fill. It was midnight on his birthday. ...Read more