The salt spray hit my face, a slap of cold reality against skin still clammy with fear. It wasn’t just the ocean’s breath; it was the scent of decay, of rot that clung to the old boardwalk like a second skin. Each step I took towards the skeletal remains of the pier was a heavy thud on splintered wood, a sound that echoed the frantic beat of my heart. The moon, a sliver of bleached bone against a sky so dark it swallowed stars, cast shadows that stretched and writhed, twisting familiar shapes into monstrous things. They danced like specters, whispering forgotten sins into the wind. Three years. Three years I’d spent building a fragile wall around myself, brick by
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