The Faded Apartment
The rain had stopped, but the smell of wet slate and rotting wood still clung to the air, a heavy, damp thing that seemed to press against the windows of the old manor house, a place where the shadows stretched long and thin like the limbs of forgotten ghosts. I stood in the center of the Great Hall, holding a small, chipped ceramic bowl in my hands, feeling its weight, a solid, cold anchor in...
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