The Faded Attic

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2026-08-25 19:32:33 -

The Faded Attic

The steppe wind howled through the keyholes of the Draff manor, a sound like tearing canvas that made the dust dance in the rafters. I sat on the floor, my fingers numb, holding a bent nail I had stolen from the village blacksmith. My father’s cough had become a rattle, a wet, hollow sound that echoed in the walls every time he turned in his sleep. I was twelve, and I was tired of watching him...

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