The Faded Attic
I woke with the taste of cold iron on my tongue, a metallic tang that coated the roof of my mouth like a second skin, and I knew, with a certainty that bypassed thought and settled directly into the marrow of my bones, that I had not come to this place by choice. The air here was thick, viscous, smelling of wet wool and old rain, a scent that did not belong to any season I could name, and it...
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