The Faded Sutra
The rain that fell upon the estate of St. Jude’s was not merely water, but a dense, gray curtain that seemed to erase the horizon, blurring the line between the manicured hedges and the overgrown moorland beyond, a boundary that Margaret Holloway had spent the last three decades of her life carefully maintaining, pruned back with shears and silence until the world outside felt as distant and...
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