In the bay where time dissolved into salt and melancholy, Isadora lived in a house that defied the laws of physics and reason. Built upon the wreckage of sunken ships and anchored by chains of black iron, the floating structure swayed with the tides of memory. Its walls were a living library: pages from 1847 Webster's dictionaries, Larousse volumes worn by humidity, and Aurélio with definitions that changed according to the wind's mood.