The Faded Apartment
The table groans under the weight of roast pork and roasted potatoes, the steam rising in thick, white ribbons that smell of fat and iron. You sit at the head, your hand resting flat on the wood, feeling the grain beneath your skin. It is a cold night, the kind that settles into the bones, but the hearth fire roars against the stone, pushing back the dark. Your father, Thomas, sits opposite...
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