The Pale Meridian
The road to the estate of Harrowgate was not merely a path of dirt and mud but a wound in the earth, stretching endlessly through the mist that clung to the hills like the shrouds of the forgotten dead, and I walked it with the weight of my own silence pressing against my ribs, a heavy stone that I had carried for so long it had become indistinguishable from the bone of my spine. I was not a...
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