The Pale Letter
The glass shattered not with a sound, but with a silence so profound it seemed to pull the air out of the room. Margaret Holloway stood in the center of the Grand Atrium of the Ministry of Civic Harmony, her hands still raised, dusting off the invisible powder from her fingers. Around her, the marble floor was a mosaic of jagged white shards, reflecting the sterile, blue-white light of the...
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