The Pale Banner
The rain had not stopped for three days. It tapped against the high windows of the North Wing, a relentless, monotonous rhythm that sounded like fingernails scraping against glass. Margaret stood by the window, her back to the room, watching the gray water smear the garden into a blur of mud and withered leaves. She was alone in the corridor. The house was empty, or so it seemed. In truth, the...
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