The Faded Apartment
The Great Hall of the Whitmore estate did not smell of decay, as one might expect for a place that had stood empty for three years. It smelled of beeswax and old paper, a scent so preserved and sterile it felt like holding one’s breath. Thomas stood in the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back, his knuckles white. The chandeliers above were draped in silk, their crystals hidden,...
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