The Mother who Fed the Dark
he shouted, not sure who he was asking.
The middle child closed his eyes.
“She made a promise,” he said. “Not to the Dark. To the house.”
---
Memory bled into the room.
They saw their mother kneeling, long before her death, fingers digging into the earth beneath the floor. They saw her burying something wrapped in cloth — something that moved. They heard her voice cracking as she swore protection, shelter, inheritance.
Take me instead, Lerato had pleaded. Leave them.
The promise had been accepted.
But not completed.
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