The Faded Chronicle
The clock on the wall ticked. It was a sound like a hammer. Eleanor stood in the hallway. She wore a grey dress. It was old. The fabric had gone soft. It clung to her shoulders. It had been her mother’s. She held the mirror in her hand. It was small. Round. The glass was dark. “Eleanor.” The voice came from the office. It was Mr. Thorne’s voice. It was dry. It was like sand on a stone. “I am...
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