The Wistful Throne
The house had a heartbeat, or so the old ones claimed, a slow, rhythmic thumping that echoed from the deep foundation stones during the winter months. It was not a sound that could be easily captured by a microphone or described to a skeptic without sounding like madness. It was the sound of the walls settling, of the wood breathing in the cold, of the very earth shifting beneath the weight of...
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