This house is tickled whenever a body’s split between rooms, quartered or halved in easy numbers to keep track of. A thousand births here but never quite like this.
Her head enters the parlor, then the first third of her neck. Her middle slides in after, and finally the part that latches to the torso. She walks this way after a feeding.
It took years, but she finally brought ones who will stay. Pliable meat and soft minds, tucked safely in its hold. Eardrums are too easily ruptured, and so this house must be patient. The two young ones won’t die for a while yet.
She is tedious work, but necessary.
It is becoming more beautiful, after all, and a house must be clever when it has no feet or hands of its own.