The Faded Quadrant
The silence in the parlor was not empty, but thick, a heavy woolen blanket that suffocated the air and the breath of the woman standing by the window. Margaret Holloway stared at the rain lashing against the glass, her fingers white-knuckled around the hem of her dress, a fabric of deep, mourning purple that had once been a vibrant violet. The house, a sprawling Victorian manor on the edge of...
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