The Faded Photograph

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2026-08-18 16:21:21 -

"Stop looking at it," Thomas said. His voice was a dry rasp, like gravel shifting under a boot. "Put the shard down, Margot." Margot did not move. Her fingers were black with soot. They hovered over the jagged piece of glass lying on the floorboards. The room was small. It was a cellar. It smelled of damp wool and rot. The air was thick. It pressed against her lungs. "Look at me," Thomas said....

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