Inside
- Reads 59
- Votes 3
- Parts 3
The monotonous pitter-patter of rain against the window pane is all that can be heard. All that can be seen is colorless blurs of a room in dim light. All that can be felt is the curling tendrils of the stale air grasp at every corner. Especially the one with a figure folded up in a fetal position.
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