The Distant Journey
The rain did not fall so much as it besieged the windows of the Holloway estate, a relentless, grey curtain that blurred the world outside into a smear of mud and dying leaves. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and the stale, metallic taste of a fight already lost. Margaret stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the master bedroom, her hands gripping the edges of the...
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