The Distant Clue
The house exhales a breath of cold, stale air as you step out into the grey morning. The door swings shut behind you with a finality that feels less like a sound and more like a severance. You are leaving. Not running, but retreating from the warmth of the hearth into the biting chill of the garden, where the frost has painted the dead grass in veins of white. Your hands tremble, not from the...
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