The Faded Shield
The ivy that climbed the crumbling stone walls of our ancestral home did not merely grow so much as it exhaled, a slow and verdant respiration that swallowed the light and turned the air thick with the scent of wet earth and dying leaves, and I remember how I used to press my forehead against the cold glass of the attic window, watching the vines twist and tighten their grip on the masonry,...
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