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Granny’s house is a prison. Every creak of the floorboard, every rustle of fabric—she’s listening. Trapped inside, you’ve got five days to escape, but one wrong move and she’ll come sprinting, her ears sharp as a hawk’s. Drop a single item, let a door slam too hard, and her footsteps will thunder closer. Wardrobes swallow you whole if you slip inside fast enough; dust-choked gaps beneath beds become temporary sanctuaries. Move like a shadow. Breathe like a ghost. Time’s ticking—and so is her patience.
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