The Pale Bridge

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2026-08-20 13:47:16 -

The Pale Bridge

The rain did not fall here; it hung. It was a suspended gray mist that clung to the wool of my coat and seeped into the bones, cold and patient. I stood on the edge of the Blackwood Estate, the iron gates rusted shut, the manor house looming in the fog like a sleeping beast. I was not supposed to be here. The letter from my sister, Clara, had been terse, written in a hand that trembled: *Come....

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