The Pale Bridge
The party was loud. It was too loud. The bass from the portable speaker rattled the cheap window frames of the rented hall, a building that sat on the edge of a cliff where the mist usually rolled in from the sea. Margot stood in the corner, holding a plastic cup of punch that tasted like copper and cheap syrup. She watched the crowd. They were dancing. They were laughing. They were alive in a...
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