The Faded Dust
You are the one who knows too much. The house is old. It breathes dust. You walk the halls. The floorboards groan. They know your weight. They remember your father. He is gone now. But his presence is a heavy thing. It sits in the corners. It watches you. The clock on the mantel ticks. Tick. Tick. Tick. It is a brass clock. It is tarnished. The hands are bent. You do not fix it. You cannot fix...
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