The Faded Apartment
The iron pickaxe bites into the shale with a sound like a bone snapping, sharp and final against the silence of the shaft. You are the foreman, a man whose hands are mapped with scars that have long since whitened, and the darkness around you is not merely an absence of light but a physical weight, pressing against your eardrums with the patience of deep water. This is the Old Hollow, a mine...
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