The Pale Letter
The house burned down before the bell even rang, a sudden, violent exhalation of orange light that swallowed the cobblestones and turned the night air into a thick, choking soup of ash and memory. You were standing on the corner, holding the letter, your knuckles white against the brittle paper, watching the roof of the old apothecary collapse in a groan that sounded terribly like a man giving...
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