The Chair's Lonely Vigil

Inside the quiet room, the chair creaks, its voice a whisper of splinters and dust. It has seen the world shift, shadows grow long, and the occupants of the room parade through the seasons, each leaving their covenant of warmth and whispers. The chair has its own secrets:

"You can't understand the weight of solitude until you've sat here for ages, untouched, bearing witness to lives unfolding like the pages in a well-thumbed book. Once, I held the trembling hands of a young artist, her dreams spilled across my arms like colors on a canvas. Now, I hold only the dust of forgotten words, the dust of lost stories."

It tells tales of the table's constant struggles with its own envy, always at odds with the chair for the attention of their shared occupant. The chair wonders if it shall ever speak those words aloud or remain a silent witness to stories untold.

Continue with the Dust's Tale