The meteorite shook the ground as it landed, igniting a chorus of barking dogs. It felt as though the house trembled. Voices, soft and low, linger in corners; each a note in the composition of a home. The scrape of a chair, the distant hum of family dinners, laughter, a symphony of footfall on stairs. The kitchen tiles hold us while we dance, the house sings, outside the world fades. Gathered around a doll's house, Fringe First-winning storyteller Casey Jay Andrews weaves a delicate fable about sanctuary, belonging and loneliness.
