The Faded Apartment
The air in the apartment smells of dust and old varnish, a scent that seems to settle into the pores of the skin, but you do not pause to appreciate it; you are here for the deed. You stand in the center of the living room, the space where the light falls in pale, dusty shafts, and you feel the tremor in your hands, a physical betrayal that you mask with a sharp, clipped demand for the...
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