The Pale Fracture
The house stood on the hill like a broken tooth. It was white. It was tall. It had too many windows. They were dark. The glass was thick. It smelled of damp wool and old paper. The air inside was cold. It bit the skin. Elara sat on the floor. She was small. Her knees were pulled to her chest. She was ten years old. She did not cry. Crying was a waste of water. Water was for the crops. Water was...
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