The Faded Quadrant
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray curtain that turned the world into a blurred watercolor of slate and ash, and in the center of this deluge stood the house, a Victorian monstrosity of dark wood and peeling paint that seemed less like a dwelling and more like a waiting room for the soul, where you, a boy of twelve with ink-stained fingers and eyes that had learned to...
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