Skeptical viewers
The house’s details grew sharper as they approached. Vines curled around the windows like claws clinging to prey. Moss blanketed the roof, while ivy spilled over ledges like cascading green waterfalls. The porch sagged dangerously, and the chimneys jutted out like rusted towers from some forgotten castle. Arthur parked at the gravel drive, staring with wide eyes. “It’s got… character,” he whispered. Rose wasn’t sure whether to laugh, scream, or tell him to turn back.
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