THIRTY TWO
The room was warm and dimly lit, the soft crackle of the hearth filling the silence with a kind of lonely comfort. I sat by the fire, watching the amber tongues devour the wood as the air grew thick with heat. When the flames began to wane, I reached forward and added another log, the sparks leaping upward like startled fireflies. After some moments, a peculiar warmth coursed through me—strange, consuming, and unbidden. I pressed a trembling hand to my lips to stifle the sound that threatened to escape, my cheeks burning as though they, too, had caught the flame. My breath came in shallow gasps, and before I could gather my composure, the sound of a turning knob shattered the silence. I sprang to my feet, startled, my heart pounding as if I were a child caught in some forbidden act. My m
- Writer
