The Pale Fracture
The heavy oak door of the sanctuary did not creak, but it seemed to exhale, a long, slow breath of dust and dried lavender that settled over Margaret’s shoulders like a shroud. She stood in the threshold, her hand resting on the cold iron latch, her fingers trembling not from the chill of the stone floor but from the weight of the silence that had pressed against her eardrums for three days....
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