The Faded Frequency
The smell of burnt sugar and old rose petals hangs thick in the air, a cloying sweetness that coats the back of your throat like a secret you have swallowed but cannot digest, and you stand in the center of the dining room with the table still set for the feast that never quite began, the silverware tarnished under the weight of your own gaze as you try to remember the last time you felt the...
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