The Pale Letter
The envelope was pale, almost white, and it sat in the bottom of the mailbox with a weight that felt wrong for its size. I pulled it out, my fingers trembling so badly the paper crinkled under the pressure. It was addressed to me, in my own handwriting, dated October 15, 1998. Three days from now. Inside, a single line: *Elara breaks her hip. Catch her.* I knew the script. I knew the slant of...
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