Underneath the bed, hidden in a corner that had long been neglected and dust-laden, was a wooden box that seemed to carry decades of secrets. Its surface was rough, scarred by the passage of time. With faint scratches marking its journey through years of childhood play and quiet neglect. The hinges were slightly rusted, resisting my touch as if reluctant to reveal what they had guarded so fiercely. My heart pounded furiously in my chest, each beat echoing against the silence of the room. The air smelled faintly of…
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