The Distant Metropolis
The rain lashed against the warped glass of the attic window, a persistent, rhythmic drumming that seemed to vibrate through the very bones of the house, a sound that had become so intrinsic to the silence of the Holloway estate that Eleanor often forgot it was weather and not the house itself breathing, a deep, industrial sigh from the lungs of the old mill below. She sat on the floorboards,...
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