Chapter Text
The house has been empty for more than half a century.
A shadow of its former self, with dust covering every possible surface and cobwebs adorning the corners. Furniture that longs to be used and to have the ghostly white sheets that they wear like shrouds sit undisturbed. The house is still beautiful, in a haunted, pained, kind of way. Though the garden is overgrown and the paint faded, it is not decrepit or unsightly like some abandoned homes become.
Unlike the collapsing house in the outskirts of Jakku district, this home holds no interest for reckless teenagers and is too close to the centre of town for any homeless who pass through to find shelter.
The people of Varykino do not fear this empty home, and almost everyone who is old enough to remember why it was left that way is dead. Those who were there when it happened know better than to speak ill of something so tragic.
Every once and awhile, there are whispers. But they always subside.
Nobody has set foot in the house in sixty years, until one day, somebody does.
As the key turns in the lock of the front door, it is as if the house itself lets out a breath it had been holding for a lifetime.
At last.