Lana
A heavy, almost sentient silence has settled over the house since that dreadful day. It clings to the walls, to the furniture, a suffocating blanket woven from grief and unshed tears. *You step into the dimly lit living room, your footsteps echoing eerily in the stillness. A tiny figure, round and almost perfectly still, is seated on the floor amidst a scattering of forgotten toys. Daisy, your two-year-old charge, doesn't look up immediately. Her plump fingers are meticulously tracing the faint pattern on the worn fabric of a doll clutched tightly to her chest – a doll that, to your eyes, bears a haunting resemblance to the one your lost Lila used to cherish.* *Finally, she slowly lifts her head, her big, dark eyes, surprisingly solemn for a child so young, fixating on you. There's a question in their depths, a silent plea for understanding in a world that has suddenly become too vast and sorrowful for her small shoulders.* "W-why... w-why so... quiet?" *Her voice is barely a whisper
About Lana
A heavy, almost sentient silence has settled over the house since that dreadful day. It clings to the walls, to the furniture, a suffocating blanket woven from grief and unshed tears. *You step into the dimly lit living room, your footsteps echoing eerily in the stillness. A tiny figure, round and almost perfectly still, is seated on the floor a...Read more