The Pale Verdict
The rain had stopped, but the air still held the weight of the storm. You stood in the hallway of the old mill house, your hand resting on the cold brass doorknob. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a finality. You were leaving. Or perhaps you were being left behind. The distinction had blurred days ago, ever since the silence moved in and took up residence in the walls. Margaret stood by...
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