The Sky-Fire

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2026-06-12 13:18:06 -

The Sky-Fire

The night my brother died, the sky was the colour of a fresh bruise. I was twenty-one. I should have been asleep in the attic room of our house on Kensington Square. Instead, I was in the garden, unable to sleep, staring at the clouds as they gathered like an army over London. Thunder did not roll that night. It screamed. Edward came running into the garden, his hair wet with rain, his face...

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