The Pale Letter
The frost had come to the village of Oakhaven earlier than usual that year, settling into the crevices of the cobblestones and the deep folds of the woolens that lined the market stalls. It was a cold that did not merely chill the skin but seemed to seep into the marrow, a silent, creeping invasion that the villagers spoke of with the hushed reverence one reserves for old gods. In the cottage...
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