The Distant Promise
The air in the cellar tasted of wet stone and old iron, a metallic tang that coated the back of your throat before you could even draw a full breath. You are twelve, though you feel older, your bones heavy with a gravity that has no name. The single bulb hanging from the ceiling flickers, casting long, jagged shadows that dance against the rough-hewn brick walls, mimicking the tremors in your...
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