The Distant Nightmare
The train cut through the fog with a rhythmic, metallic grinding that sounded less like travel and more like the chewing of a slow, indifferent beast. Inside the carriage, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and stale tobacco, a heavy blanket that settled over the shoulders of the few passengers still awake. Margaret Holloway sat by the window, her posture rigid, her eyes fixed on the...
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