The Faded Attic
The chandelier in the Grand Hall of the Whitmore Estate did not merely hang from the ceiling; it suspended the very air, a glittering constellation of cut crystal and tarnished silver that refracted the gaslight into a thousand fractured whispers, each shard a tiny, sharp tongue hissing secrets into the velvet drapes that swallowed the sound of our breathing, for we were all there, the entire...
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