The Pale Shadows
The house was dying, not with the sudden, dramatic collapse of a roof or the violent shattering of a windowpane, but with the slow, inexorable erosion of its bones by the relentless, indifferent march of seasons that did not pause for the grief of the living who inhabited it. I stood in the center of the grand hall, my boots heavy with the mud of the driveway, feeling the dampness seep into the...
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