The Faded Attic
The rain has not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turns the cobblestones of the market square into a slick, treacherous mirror reflecting the dim, flickering gas lamps, and you stand in the doorway of your shop, watching the water pool around your boots, feeling the dampness seep into the wool of your trousers, a cold, creeping dampness that mirrors the chill in your...
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