The Pale Letter
The mist lay thick and white upon the moor, a tangible weight that pressed against the windowpanes of the isolated manor house where Elara stood, her fingers tracing the cold, damp grain of the ancient oak doorframe that had witnessed centuries of silent, unchanging vigil. She held the small, pale envelope in her hand, its paper thin as a moth’s wing and stained with the rust-colored earth of...
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