The Faded Root
The kettle began to scream before it boiled, a thin, high-pitched wail that cut through the heavy, coal-thick air of the kitchen. Margaret stood by the window, her back to the room, watching the soot settle on the windowpane in slow, grey drifts. She did not turn around when the floorboards creaked behind her. She knew the rhythm of the footsteps, the slight limp in the left foot, the way the...
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