30/10/2025
STORY ALERT: SHADOWS OF AUNT FELICIA
Part 1
When my parents died in the fire, everyone said Aunt Felicia was kind to take me in.
But I knew better after my first week in her house.
She lived in a large old building with peeling wallpaper and too many locks on the doors.
Every morning, she’d shout my schedule from the bottom of the stairs:
“Up by five! No breakfast until chores are done! And never, ever touch the piano!”
That piano sat in the parlor, covered in a dusty white cloth.
I’d seen her sit there once, staring at it like it held a secret.
She smiled at guests, called me her “sweet orphan niece,” but when they left, her eyes turned sharp.
“You’re lucky to have me,” she’d hiss. “Without me, you’d be begging on the streets.”
But I could hear her at night — talking softly to herself in the parlor.
Sometimes I heard her whisper my mother’s name.
And sometimes… she laughed.
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