Edna

The air in the room was thick with dust and the silence of years. Edie woke, again, to the phantom echo of his name, a relentless nightmare that clung to him like a shroud. Across the room, the mirror reflected a stranger: hollow grey eyes, a pale, gaunt face, skin stretched taut over bone.

He dragged himself from the bed, the tremor in his fingers a constant reminder of his fragility. Outside, the sky hung heavy and colorless, a smothering grey that blurred the world. He descended the rotting stairs, each step pulling him deeper into the house's silent embrace.

The kitchen, once alive with the scent of bread and laughter, now sagged with decay. Memories flickered—his sister, Edna, stealing bread; his mother's soft scolding; his father grumbling over newspaper prices. Now, only silence.

He moved into the living room, a mausoleum of dust-draped furniture. In the far corner, a familiar figure sat, head bowed, hands resting quietly on its lap. A black, stone-like statue of grief. "...Dad," Edie whispered, the word swallowed by the heavy air.

He sat beside the figure, heart aching. "I don't blame you anymore," he murmured, placing his lucky coin on his father's lap. Then, with a profound, bitter resolve, Edie stood. He had to leave. He had to find Edna. Everything else, he left behind.