The Faded Apartment
The letter in your hand is heavy, not with the weight of the paper, which is thin and cheap, but with the weight of the silence that follows it. You stand in the center of the apartment, a room that used to smell of old books and the damp earth of the garden you no longer tend, and now smells only of the sterile, metallic air of the cleaning crew that came after you were taken away. The object...
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