The Faded Attic
The date is the 14th of November, 1912, and the ink is wet, bleeding slightly into the porous paper of my ledger as I record the recurring dream that has haunted the last three years since Clara’s death from consumption, a dream in which she stands at the foot of my bed, her face pale and translucent, holding a vial of amber liquid that she insists is the cure for the very illness that took...
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