The Pale Echo
The soup was cold. This was the first thing Margaret noticed when she woke from the fever that had held her for three days in the small, drafty room above the apothecary. It was a thick, grey stew of barley and bone marrow, intended to rebuild the strength of a woman who had been broken by the court’s judgment. The smell was not one of nourishment but of decay, a cloying, metallic sweetness...
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