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Granada, Spain, 1975 The moon screamed over the central courtyard of the Martínez estate. The Alhambra, perched jealously on the mountain, lamented the lunar glow of her companion. The yellows of her skin dimmed the beauty of the candles. Everything whispered romantic mystery that night. High above the city, too far to hear the bustle of the crowds. Deep inside the Martínez house, on an ordinary Saturday. -Here’s a fragment from Paper Eyes- Do you wanna read the whole fragment? Go to pharagraf every week so you can be discover. Here’s my link of pharagraf https://paragraph.xyz/@h.serrano/paper-ayes?referrer=0x9d19D29915DE806D5D2A827a89A538f9540ff005 A story that will undoubtedly leave no one indifferent, inspired by the wonderful city of Granada, the cradle where dreams are born. “When reality falls asleep in the darkest hours, the ghosts of the past seem to whisper to the brightest corners of your soul.” What do you think? Would you like to read more? What does this fragment inspire in you?
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