The Distant Affair
Six hours. That was the count. Six hours since the alarm, six hours since the silence, six hours since I last saw her face. I checked the clock again, the second hand ticking a hollow, wooden rhythm against the dark of the manor. The house smelled of damp wool and old paper, the scent of a place that had forgotten how to breathe. I had not slept, but I had counted. Every minute was a coin...
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