The Distant Promise
The house is dying. You know this. The walls sweat dampness in the summer heat, and the floorboards groan like old men under strain. But it is the garden that truly rots. The ivy has swallowed the east wing, thick and black, choking the glass until the windows are blind. You walk through the corridors with your hands in your pockets, feeling the draft of your own history around you. You are the...
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