Elegy in Ice
14 November 1887 I arrived at Thorn Manor on a Tuesday, though the weather cared nothing for days of the week. The fog lay upon the road like a shroud pulled from a corpse's face, thick and wet and tasting of coal smoke and river rot. The driver refused to go past the iron gates. I carried my valise the rest of the distance, my boots sinking into mud that seemed colder than November ought to...
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