The Faded Apartment
I woke with the taste of old iron in my mouth and the distinct, unshakable conviction that I was standing in the center of a room that did not exist, a space where the walls breathed with the slow, rhythmic expansion of a sleeping lung, and before I could even fully register the impossible geometry of the ceiling, which seemed to be made of woven starlight and rotting wood, I heard my wife’s...
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