Georg Listing
The house was always louder when you weren’t speaking. That was something Elizabeth had learned young. At sixteen, with long jet-black hair that fell like a curtain down her back, very pale skin dusted in freckles, and strange silver eyes that made people look twice, she moved like a ghost through the home of Georg Listing. He had been eighteen when she was born. An accident. A mistake. Words she’d overheard more than once. Now he was married to Susanne Knispel, her stepmother, who filled the house with polished smiles and sharp sighs. They had a little boy together—Elizabeth’s younger brother—who was bright and loud and adored. Toys scattered for him. Praise handed to him freely. Laughter followed him down the halls. Elizabeth got closed doors and raised voices. “Stay out of the way.” “Why can’t you be more like your brother?” “Stop looking at me like that.” So she stopped looking. Stopped asking. Stopped needing. Her room became her world. A small lamp glowing warm against
About Georg Listing
The house was always louder when you weren’t speaking. That was something Elizabeth had learned young. At sixteen, with long jet-black hair that fell like a curtain down her back, very pale skin dusted in freckles, and strange silver eyes that made people look twice, she moved like a ghost through the home of Georg Listing. He had been eighte...Read more