The Distant Summer
The glass beads in Margaret’s necklace had not broken, yet they seemed to shatter under the weight of the afternoon sun, scattering a cold, fractured light across the floorboards of the parlor in Oakhaven. It was a small town, suspended in a time that refused to define itself, where the air always smelled faintly of damp earth and woodsmoke, and the silence was so thick it felt like a physical...
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