The Pale Letter
"You don’t look at the water," the old man said, his voice dry as the dust that coated his boots. "You look at the horizon. That is the first mistake. The second is believing you have a choice." I stood there, shivering in the thin coat my mother had left behind, the fabric clinging to my ribs like a wet shroud. The wind howled through the skeletal trees of the valley, a sound that was less a...
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