The Distant Clue
The sky did not fall so much as it peeled away, a flaking paint of bruised purple and sickly gold that revealed not the stars but a void so absolute it seemed to drink the light from the eyes. Margaret Holloway stood in the center of what had been the Great Hall of the Ashworth Estate, the floorboards beneath her boots groaning under the sudden, impossible weight of the air. The chandeliers...
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