The Pale Banner
The coughing began in the cellar, a wet, rattling sound that seemed to rise from the very stones of the old mill, a persistent and ugly noise that defied the silence you had tried so hard to cultivate. You stood in the dim light of the workshop, your hands trembling not from fear, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the cold that had seeped into your bones over the last three months of...
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