The Faded Guest

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2026-08-20 17:51:57 -

The Faded Guest

The fog sat heavy on the mill town, a gray wool blanket that smothered the cobblestones and the chimneys. It was November. The air tasted of coal dust and wet iron. I stood in the corner of the parlor, watching the dust motes dance in the single beam of light that cut through the blind. My name is Clara. I am the ghost of this house, though I am still breathing. Still bleeding. My brother,...

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