ThreeKindsofSoftness

Lily blinked up at the ceiling. Twice. Slowly and rhythmically. The once-white plaster seemed to be disintegrating from inside itself, holding on and waiting – waiting – waiting for that one perfect moment to collapse. But against all probability, its final moment had yet to arrive, and so it remained, stretched from wall to wall like an antique, coffee stained meringue, a grim pledge to inanimate determination. Rain spattered erratically onto the distant roof, skittering across the tin in its impromptu tap dance, choreographing messages of Morse Code to an ignorant audience. It seeped down through the attic and the floors in a steady strea