"The seat was reserved for eternity."
The undisputed gentleman of Bone Street doesn't rise for anyone. He has occupied this wing-back chair since the foundation stones of the district were laid. His silk hat is tattered, but his posture remains royal. The smoke from his cigar curls into the dark, acting as a thin veil between his quiet world and the chaotic one inside the phone. He isn't just a resident; he is the landlord of the silence.
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