The Faded Attic
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended mist that clung to the eaves of the houses in Harrowgate like a shroud that had forgotten how to be draped, and in that perpetual gray twilight, Leo felt the weight of the air pressing against the glass of his bedroom window, a physical pressure that seemed to mirror the crushing, silent expansion of the secret he had cultivated in the...
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