The Faded Paradox
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey, suspended membrane between the window of the municipal intake office and the world outside, blurring the streetlights into weeping halos that pulsed with a slow, rhythmic decay. Margaret Holloway sat in the corner of the room, her hands folded tightly in her lap, the fabric of her wool coat worn thin at the elbows, a map of frays that mirrored...
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