The Faded Road
The house breathed in the dark, a slow, tidal expansion of the lungs that had once been the parlor. You stood in the center of the room, the floorboards creaking under the weight of your stillness, while the wind outside tore at the eaves like a dog gnawing on a bone. It was 1924, the year the smokestacks began to belch their grey exhalations over the valley, and the air inside your home tasted...
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