kaya-ra edwards

Ivy Drabble’s skin was as tough and dark as leather, skin that browned like mince in the frying pan. Moles peppered her wrinkled neck, like scattered chocolate buttons on a crumpled paper bag. …

She gasps in frustration, though it sounds like she is breathing in life as though it might escape her.
‘Why?’ she recites. The answers spill over his lips though they hold false truth.
‘The …

Who belonged to this house?
To whom did it belong?
Who lived here? Who did?
Where have they gone?