The Faded Attic
The dream began not with light, but with the sound of breaking glass, a sharp, crystalline shriek that tore through the humid air of the summer night and woke Elias Thorne before the sun had even thought to rise, leaving him gasping in the narrow bed of his cottage, the sweat cold and sticky on his forehead, the phantom sensation of shards still embedded in his palms. He sat up, his heart...
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