The Faded Root
The ivy had eaten the house before the bank did. It was a slow, green suffocation, a creeping testament to nature’s indifferent hunger, wrapping around the eaves of the Victorian manor like a lover’s arm that had forgotten how to let go. I sat in the library, surrounded by the smell of damp paper and rotting wood, watching the light filter through the grimy windows in pale, dusty shafts. My...
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