The Pale Letter
The sky did not break open with thunder, but with a sound like tearing silk, a high, shrieking rip that pulled the very air from the lungs of the people standing in the square, and it was in that moment, as the light turned the color of bruised plums and the shadows stretched into long, grasping fingers across the cobblestones, that I saw the object lying in the dust, a small, pale thing that...
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