The Faded Apartment
The porcelain teapot sat upon the center of the oak table, a white, fractured thing that mirrored the hollows of our existence in the sterile, humming silence of the corporate office where I had been exiled from the world I knew, a place that smelled of floor wax and stale coffee and the faint, metallic tang of fear that clung to the walls like a persistent ghost. I had come here with the...
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