The Distant Promise
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the world outside the window of the attic room into a blurred, drowning smear of shadow and slate, and inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and the faint, sweet rot of the dried lavender bundle that Clara held tightly against her chest, her knuckles white, her breath shallow and quick as a trapped...
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