The Pale Letter
The frost has already taken the glass of the window, and you stand before it, pressing your thumb against the cold pane until the numbness spreads into your bone. Outside, the village of Oakhaven sleeps under a blanket of sleet, the chimneys exhaling thin ribbons of smoke that vanish into the grey afternoon. You are waiting for the bell to toll the hour, but you are not waiting for time. You...
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