The Pale Banner
The sky over Harrowgate did not break; it peeled. It came away from the earth in great, ragged strips of violet and bruised grey, hanging in the air like wet canvas that had been torn from a sail. You stood in the center of the square, your boots sinking into the wet cobblestones, and you watched the town dissolve. It was not a storm. It was not a gas leak. It was a forgetting. The houses of...
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