The Faded Attic
The rain did not fall so much as it seeped, a slow, gray hemorrhage that bled through the roof of the county asylum into the bones of the men who lived there, and I stood in the center of the ward, my left hand pressed against the cold, damp stone of the wall, feeling the vibration of the storm as a physical weight that settled in my sternum, a hollow ache that matched the emptiness in my chest...
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