Abandoned house

The house slumps beneath creeping vines and broken beams, as if the land itself is trying to swallow it whole. Wind whistles through shattered shutters, carrying whispers that don’t belong to the living. Rusted tools and cracked dishes still litter the floor, untouched since the night the hearth went cold. Some say bandits claimed it, others swear the woods did — either way, no one calls it home. Now it stands as a carcass of a dwelling, a warning nailed into the earth: in Kwalat, even stone and timber can die.