The Wistful Silence
The building does not look like a house when you first see it, but rather a lung, a vast and pale ribcage that has been left to dry in the wind, its windows gaping open like empty eye sockets staring out at the gray, featureless sky that hangs low over the valley. You stand at the bottom of the hill, your boots sinking into the wet, dark earth, and you feel the pull of it, a physical ache in...
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