The Pale Mist

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2026-08-19 11:21:22 -

The Pale Mist

"The glass is cracked, Sister," I said, my voice steady as the bedpost. Margaret looked up from her hands, which were wrapped around a ceramic cup that had gone cold an hour ago. Her eyes were wide, the whites of them stark against the pallor of her cheeks, reflecting the fractured light of the morning. She did not blink. She did not deny it. In the high, thin air of the carriage we had...

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