The Pale Fracture

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 12:27:12 -

The Pale Fracture

The rain fell in sheets of iron. It hammered the slate roof of the watchtower. I stood in the dark. My hands shook. Not from cold. From fear. The cold was a fact. The fear was a ghost. I held the scarf. It was white. Wool. Thick. Worn at the edges. It had been my mother’s. She had died in the winter. The frost took her breath. The scarf was the only thing left that smelled of soap and lavender....

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