The Faded Apartment
The smell of burnt toast and damp wool clung to the hallway of the small boarding house on Miller’s Lane, a scent that had become so indistinguishable from the air itself that no one remembered when it had first settled. It was the kind of quiet that preceded a storm, not of wind or rain, but of silence so heavy it pressed against the eardrums. Margaret sat at the kitchen table, her hands...
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