The Distant Legend
The rain did not fall. It hung. A heavy, gray curtain. It smelled of wet slate and old iron. Mara stood in the lobby. The carpet was red. It looked like dried blood. She held a glass of wine. The wine was red. She smiled. It was a wide smile. Too wide. "Another one," she said. Her voice was bright. Thin. Like wire. The room hummed. A low, electric hum. The annual gala. The departmental...
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