The Faded Attic
You stand at the threshold of the crumbling estate, the iron gate groaning beneath your weight as you force it open, the rusted hinges screaming a protest that echoes through the dead, leafless trees of the autumn afternoon. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying wood, a smell that clings to your tongue and settles deep in your lungs, tasting of forgotten centuries and the...
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