The house remembers everything. Every silence. Every wound. Every confession spoken in the dark. In Born From Ruin, Book Three of the Bound Hearts series, the house no longer hungers only for blood-it hungers for voice. Its beams whisper, its walls breathe, its very frame demands to be heard. Each secret becomes a sentence. Each refusal becomes a shadow. And every truth spoken aloud binds them tighter to the house that will not let them go.
To stay means surrendering more than body-it means becoming the ribs, the veins, the mouth through which the house speaks its memory. To leave means risking collapse-not just of the house, but of themselves. Love has carried them through silence and ash. But in these halls, devotion is a dangerous language-and ruin is no longer what breaks them. Ruin is what keeps them.
The house remembers everything. Every silence. Every wound. Every confession spoken in the dark. In Born From Ruin, Book Three of the Bound Hearts series, the house no longer hungers only for blood-it hungers for voice. Its beams whisper, its walls breathe, its very frame demands to be heard. Each secret becomes a sentence. Each refusal becomes a shadow. And every truth spoken aloud binds them tighter to the house that will not let them go.
To stay means surrendering more than body-it means becoming the ribs, the veins, the mouth through which the house speaks its memory. To leave means risking collapse-not just of the house, but of themselves. Love has carried them through silence and ash. But in these halls, devotion is a dangerous language-and ruin is no longer what breaks them. Ruin is what keeps them.