The Pale Dance
The inventory sheet listed four hundred and twelve items, a number that felt less like a count and more like a weight pressing against Elias’s sternum as he stood in the center of the attic, his flashlight beam cutting through the dust motes that hung suspended in the stagnant air. The smell hit him first, a thick, cloying mixture of dried lavender, old paper, and the distinct, metallic tang of...
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