The Golden Scar
The rain had not stopped for three days, and the house was sweating. It was a cold, damp sweat that pooled in the corners of the hallway, smelling of wet wool and old paper. I stood by the window, my hand pressed against the glass, watching the droplets race down the pane like small, frantic insects trying to escape a trap. Inside, the silence was heavy, a physical weight that pressed against...
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