The Pale Verdict
The sky over Harrowgate did not so much turn black as it seemed to rot, a bruise spreading from the horizon until the sun was swallowed whole, leaving the cobblestone streets bathed in a sickly, amber twilight that made the faces of the townspeople look like preserved specimens in jars. It was in this suffocating, golden gloom that the great mill fire began, not with a roar, but with a silent,...
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