The Pale Letter
The ink had not yet dried on the final page of the treatise, a dark and viscous pool of judgment that seemed to seep into the very wood of the desk, when Margaret Holloway looked up to find the room empty, save for the ghost of a presence that lingered in the corner where the fire had burned low. "Do you see it, then?" she whispered, her voice thin and brittle as old parchment, addressing the...
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