The Wistful Letter
Harrowgate Manor, 14th October, 1893. Clara is screaming again, a sound that does not come from her throat but seems to be dragged up from the cellar where the air tastes of rot and old paper, and I am standing in the nursery with a crowbar in my hand, my knuckles white and bleeding, while the wallpaper peels away in long, yellowed strips like dead skin to reveal the brickwork beneath. We must...
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