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... ains were drawn, casting long shadows across the floor that stretched like crooked arms over the faded rug.
A faint evening glow slipped through the window, painting soft amber streaks across the edges of my bed.
I sat at the corner, hands locked together in front of my face, elbows pressed into my knees, staring at nothing and everything all at once.
The journal... Clara’s journal.
The words played in my head over and over again, like a curse I couldn’t shake. ...
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