The Distant Whispers
The glass had been singing for three days, a thin, high-pitched whine that seemed to emanate not from the pane itself but from the very air trapped within the double glazing, a sound that drilled into the soft marrow of Oliver’s bones and made his teeth ache with a frequency he could not name. He sat on the floor of the library, his back against the leg of the mahogany table, watching the...
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