This place has too many nooks and crannies. No matter how good the lighting is, there’s always just enough shadows to fill me with a kind of dreading doubt as I walk around Marcus’s cathedral to utter resignation . Vaulted ceilings full of hot air and the stagnant energy of the echoes of all his guffawing gusto. Enough spare rooms, empty but for the dust that cakes them, to house several families, but Laura’s room is a pristinely-kept shrine; a mausoleum with no cadaver save for Marcus’s drive and will. A house of luxury for the dead, a distant landmark for the living.

Huh. I can be almost poetic when I’m bitching someone out.

No major changes to Marcus’s condition but I’m obliged to make some vain effort to keep you all updated. So, yeah, fragile but stable. But, then again, wasn’t he like that anyway?


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