The Wistful Saga
The basement office smelled of damp paper and old dust, a scent that had seeped into the fibers of your clothes until you could no longer distinguish your own odor from the archive. You sat at the lowest desk, the one with the wobbly leg, watching the light from the single windowless corridor flicker as Dr. Halloway’s secretary passed by, her heels clicking a sharp, rhythmic warning against the...
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