The Wistful Saga
The wood groaned, a low, tectonic shift that vibrated through the soles of your boots. You stood in the center of the hallway, the deed of sale resting on the table behind you, the ink wet and black as a bruise. The house was not silent. It had never been silent, not since the day you retired, not since the border line was moved and your life was cut back to the size of these four walls. But...
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