The Pale Banner
The frost on the windowpane is thick. It has grown into a crystalline lattice, a map of veins and capillaries that mirrors the structure of the human eye. You press your finger against the glass. The cold bites. It is a sharp, precise pain. You are seven years old. Your name is Eliot Vance. You do not remember your surname. You only know the name of the man who lives here. The house is silent....
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