The Pale Path
The porridge in the bowl had begun to congeal, a pale, starchy skin forming over the surface as Clara Thorne stared into it with the hollow, fixed gaze of a woman who has forgotten how to blink, while Major Elias Thorne stood behind her, his hands trembling so violently against the high, sterile counter of the ancestral manor’s kitchen that the silver ladle clattered against the ceramic rim in...
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