The Distant Ghost
The boiler exploded at dawn, shattering the silence of the textile mill with a roar that sounded like the world cracking in two. Margaret Holloway stood on the gantry, her white shirt stained with soot and blood, watching the steam rise in a white plume that swallowed the morning sun. The air tasted of iron and burnt hair. She did not scream. She simply watched the iron beams twist and groan, a...
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