The Last Season of Your Life
On a wooded hillside outside Pittsburgh, where the rivers braid together and the bridges flash yellow in the sun, there stands an old private school no one ever remembers enrolling in. Ivy grips its cracked bricks. Moss blurs the leaded windows. To almost anyone looking, it appears abandoned. Unless they are the newly dead. If that is the case, it is more of an inevitability.
Content warnings 2
deathdeath-of-a-loved-one
Quasar links out; the story lives on Lightspeed, where the author gets the click.