The Faded Apartment
The rain did not fall so much as it was delivered, a heavy, wet verdict upon the slate roof of the watchtower. You sat in the high chair, the wood slick with condensation, your hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had gone cold an hour ago. The mist outside was not merely weather; it was a living thing, a grey breath that pressed against the glass, erasing the world below until the only...
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