The Faded Dust
The rain lashed against the glass of the conservatory, a relentless, gray static that blurred the world outside into a smear of mud and dying leaves. Inside, the air was thick, heavy with the scent of wet wool and the sharp, metallic tang of old paper. I sat in the corner, my hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had gone cold an hour ago, watching the water ripple in the glass. It was a small...
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