The Pale Shadows
The frost had taken the orchard first, then the field, and finally the breath of the boy named Thomas who stood at the center of the stone circle with his hands raw and bleeding from the cold. The air was not merely cold; it was a substance, a heavy, viscous gelatin that coated the lungs and turned every inhalation into a laborious, mechanical effort, a pumping of iron lungs in a vacuum where...
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