The Wistful Saga
The house is breathing. You feel it in the creak of the floorboards under your feet, a slow, rhythmic inhale and exhale that matches the tick of the grandfather clock in the hall. It is a sound you have learned to ignore, or so you thought. But today, the air is thick with the scent of damp earth and old paper, and the walls seem to lean inward, watching you. You are a scholar of history, a man...
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