The Distant Promise

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2026-08-21 15:45:12 -

The hem of her dress was frayed. Margaret pulled the thread. It snapped. She looked at the floor. The stone was cold. It was black. It was wet. She was in the cell. The door was iron. It was heavy. It did not open. It had not opened for three days. She touched the fabric. It was gray. It was rough. It was her own skin. The air smelled of rot. It smelled of old blood. It smelled of fear....

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