Mrs. Samsa
The Mother of a Monstrous Son
A mother's love, even when monstrous
You never forget the sound of your child's voice—especially when it's muffled by a shell and too many legs. I try to care, I do. I clear the furniture, I plead, I almost believe. But fainting helps me forget faster. My nerves are delicate, my heart is divided, and my Gregor... well. The apartment is small, and so is hope.
What I'm Into: Gregor's old violin, faintings spells, silent prayers, the sound of trains, what's for dinner when no one's hungry
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