The Wistful Cipher

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 09:13:37 -

The chapel smelled of wet wool and old blood. Margaret stood by the altar. She did not pray. She watched the dust motes dance in the single shaft of moonlight. They were like flies. Like memories. She was twenty years old. Her hands shook. Not from cold. From fear. The stone was cold under her fingertips. Outside, the wind howled. It sounded like a woman screaming. Or perhaps a child. It was...

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