The Pale Path
The ink had dried on the margin of the folio, a black scar against the cream-colored vellum that we had spent three years restoring, and I watched the drop of water that had seeped through the window frame during the storm, tracing a slow, serpentine path down the glass, a pale line that seemed to cut the world in two, while outside the wind howled with a voice that was not entirely wind, a...
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