The Distant Summer
The rain had stopped, but the air still held the weight of the storm, heavy and wet against your skin. You stand at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the churning grey water below, while Margaret stands a few paces behind you, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder. It is a gesture of comfort, or perhaps of warning. You do not turn to look at her. You are listening to the wind. It...
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