The Wistful Show
Maren stood before the mirror. The glass was cold. Her hands trembled. She held a knife. The blade was silver. It was sharp. It had been sharpened. Not for meat. For something else. For the thing that lived in her veins. The house was old. Stone walls. Thick as a heart. The floorboards creaked. They sighed under her weight. Outside, the wind howled. It sounded like a beast. It sounded like a...
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