Echoes of Yesteryear

Arthur sat before his mahogany desk, where stacks of parchment had long since surrendered their luster to the yellowing grip of time, mirroring how clarity fades when one wanders too deep into the corridors of the past. Outside, the rain did not merely fall; it raked against the windowpane with a rhythmic insistence, as if demanding entry, or perhaps reminding him of something he had labored to forget. In the corner of the study, an antique grandfather clock groaned, its ticking a physical weight in the silence that had reigned for hours. Arthur reached for a small cedar chest, exhaling a scen...