The Silent Statue
(Style A: Victorian Melancholy) The fog in the outskirts of London did not merely drift; it clung to the skin like a damp shroud, smelling of coal smoke and ancient decay. Clara lived in a cottage that seemed to be sinking into the grey earth, a place where the walls wept saltpeter and the wind howled through the eaves with a voice that sounded suspiciously like a human sob. Her husband had...
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