What is the sound of a village as it dies? It is the sound of nothing at all. In the spring of nineteen thirty-three, the silence in our home was a physical weight, a shroud woven from the ghosts of my family. The Holodomor, the Great Hunger, had reaped them all, leaving only me, Anya, in a world hollowed out by their absence. Then, the soldiers came. Their faces were stone, their paper a death...
