The Faded Guest
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey curtain that turned the night into a dense, wet silence. Inside the house, the silence was heavier, pressing against the eardrums with the weight of unspoken years. Elara sat in the high-backed chair by the dying fire, her fingers tracing the rim of a teacup that had gone cold an hour ago, the porcelain rough against her...
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