The Pale Shadows
The train cut through the fog like a knife through wet wool, its rhythm a dull, persistent thud that seemed to sync with the beating in Margot’s temples. She sat in the corner of the carriage, her knees drawn up to her chest, the wool of her coat stiff against her palms. Outside, the landscape was a smear of gray and black, the fields indistinguishable from the sky, the trees reduced to...
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