The Pale Tale

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2026-08-19 01:29:56 -

The Pale Tale

The fog rolled off the river in thick, grey sheets, swallowing the cobblestones of Harrowgate one by one. It was the kind of morning that felt like a held breath, suspended in the damp air. Margaret stood at the window of the inn, her fingers tracing the condensation on the glass. She watched the figures in the square below. They moved slowly, their coats buttoned to the chin, their heads bowed...

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