I was only trying to make space. Sweep out the corners, clear a path for something new. But old rooms don’t like to be disturbed. They hiss when you move things that were meant to stay buried. Tucked in the back, under a layer of dust and denial, was a small velvet trap. It looked harmless—maybe even precious. But when I opened it, it bit back. Inside were two little circles. Perfect loops, no beginning or end—just like the story they belonged to. I’d been blamed for their disappearance...