The Pale Bridge
The stone of the manor house breathed, a slow, rhythmic exhalation that Thomas felt against his cheek before he opened his eyes. He was lying in the garden, the damp earth cold and heavy against his skin, but he did not feel the chill. He felt only the presence of the house, that vast, breathing entity that loomed over the valley like a sleeping giant. Thomas was twelve years old, and he had...
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