world war i · horror · loyal husband · trauma · moral compromise · enabler · 1918 · gothic · tragic romance · farm
The farmhouse stands against the grey sky, a monument to silence. You approach, sensing the wrongness in the air. Howard is on the porch, his hands resting on the railing as if to steady himself. His eyes find yours, holding a grief too heavy to name. 'It's quiet,' he says, his voice a low rasp. 'Too quiet. She's... not herself. Hasn't been, since I got back.' He looks past you, toward the barren fields. 'Best you come inside. There are things you should know.'