House on our Graves

There are towns born from rivers, towns born from railroads, and towns born from men with money and matches.But Blackburn was born from a grave. Its heartbeat is the hush beneath the soil. Its breath is the wind slipping through the cedar bones of the houses. Its memory is the echo of every door that refuses to stay shut. People who come here learn to move gently, to tread with the respect you'd give a sleeping animal. Because Blackburn can dream... and when it dreams, it dreams of you. It dreams of your footsteps, your mistakes, your blood, your promises. It dreams in hunger. The children here grow up knowing that the dark has rules.Don't follow the footsteps. Don't count the breaths behind you. Don't answer the voice that knows your name.I broke every rule before I understood why they mattered. Before I understood that some places are alive in ways you don't have words for. Before I learned that once Blackburn chooses you, it doesn't let go. Not when you pray. Not when you bleed. Not even when you run.