The Faded Dust
The dust in the attic of the Harrow House did not merely settle; it hung in the stagnant air like a suspended judgment, a fine, gray particulate that coated everything it touched with the memory of neglect. Elara Vane stood before the open chest of her late mother, her fingers trembling not from the cold that seeped through the warped floorboards, but from the crushing weight of the debt that...
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