The Faded Attic

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2026-08-20 13:59:50 -

The Faded Attic

The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and stale candle wax. It was a thick, cloying scent that clung to the throat, a physical weight that made every breath feel like a labor. I sat at the far end of the long oak table, my hands folded in my lap, watching the wax pools congeal on the silver candelabras. The air was hot, stifling, the windows barred against the damp November rain outside....

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