The Faded Apartment
The lease agreement lay on the workbench, its ink still wet and smelling of turpentine, and I signed it with a hand that trembled not from cold but from the sheer, physical weight of the debt I was agreeing to carry. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, a structural engineer by trade and a tenant by necessity, and I had come to this crumbling Victorian terrace in Bristol with a specific,...
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