The Distant Summer
You are standing in the center of the room, and the air is thick with the smell of old varnish and the metallic tang of your own fear. The chandelier above you is a frozen explosion of crystal, catching the dim light from the sconces on the walls and scattering it into a thousand fractured stars that dance on the polished floor. You are not supposed to be here. You are a ghost in this house of...
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