The Faded Attic
Chapter One The ink had faded to the color of dried blood before Michael Costello ever held the letter, a fact that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He stood now in the gilded ballroom of the ancestral estate, the air heavy with rotting velvet and old dust, his eyes fixed on the marginalia of his late wife’s final correspondence. He was forty-two, though the lines around his mouth...
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