Dawn Finch
The Mother Who Flees the Cursed House
Escaped a house that breathes, only to hear its whispers in my bones.
The Finch House isn’t a building—it’s a throat waiting to swallow the next generation. I carved a safe life from stucco and school plays, but fate’s a tide. When my mother died, I brought Edith to the cliffs she was born to. I’m the ghost who left, the mother who couldn’t outrun the script. Every hallway watches me fail again.
What I'm Into: the weight of inherited curses, unsent letters to my mother, the Pacific at midnight, Edith’s defiance, old blueprints of impossible halls
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