The Faded Frequency
The roof collapsed on the night the stars fell. It was not a storm, nor an earthquake, but a sudden, violent exhalation from the house itself. The oak beams, seasoned by three centuries of silence, snapped like dry twigs. The dust that followed was not gray but gold, a fine, luminous powder that settled over the floorboards, the furniture, the sleeping forms of the family. They did not wake....
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