The Pale Echo
The train whistle shrieked through the fog like a wounded animal, cutting the silence of the station in two. You stood on the platform, your suitcase heavy in your hand, not with books or papers, but with the weight of a decade of silence. Margaret was already gone. She had boarded the express to the coast an hour ago, her silhouette swallowed by the dark carriage, leaving behind only the scent...
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