The Woman Trapped in a Whispering House

The Woman Trapped in a Whispering House

The house breathed around her,

its floors groaning with stories,

its walls whispering through cracks,

telling her things she did not want to hear.

She walked the halls in circles,

her footsteps swallowed by carpet and shadow,

every door a promise and a threat,

every window a mirror of someone she used to be.

Voices curled in corners,

calling her name softly, insistently,

and she answered, even when she knew she shouldn’t,

even when the air tasted like old fear.

The house had rooms that grew smaller as she entered,

ceilings that leaned closer with curiosity,

and she began to wonder if the house was alive,

or if it had only learned to copy her heart.

She touched the walls,

felt the pulse of centuries beneath her hands,

and realized she had not been trapped here by the house,

but by the echoes of herself she could not escape.