The Faded Guest
The frost had settled on the windowpane of the small back room like a fine, white lace, sealing Margaret’s breath into the cold air. She did not shiver, though the fire in the grate had long since died to a bed of grey ash, leaving the room in a silence that felt heavy, almost tangible, pressing against her eardrums. She sat at her workbench, the wood worn smooth by decades of her fingers, her...
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