The Faded Apartment
The ink on the ledger page was still wet, a glossy, viscous smear that caught the light of the single, flickering gas lamp in a way that seemed almost accusatory, as if the very act of writing my name had drawn a bloodline across the parchment that would not dry, that would not heal, but would only spread, creeping into the fibers of the paper and the wood of the desk and eventually into the...
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