The Distant Promise
The rain had not stopped in three days, turning the manicured lawns of the Ashworth estate into a murky, sucking swamp that mirrored the grey sky above. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of beeswax and old paper, a cloying perfume that Margaret had long since learned to ignore. She stood before the tall, arched mirror in the master bedroom, her hands resting lightly on the back of the...
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