The Faded Attic
The humidity in the basement of the municipal archive was a specific kind of rot, a dampness that settled into the lungs before it even reached the skin, carrying with it the faint, metallic taste of oxidizing iron and the sweet, cloying scent of decaying cellulose, a smell that Margaret Holloway had spent the last twelve years trying to scrub from her nostrils but which had become, in the end,...
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