The Pale Letter
The frost on the windowpane of the carriage was not the soft, feathery kind that signals a gentle winter morning, but a hard, crystalline lattice that seemed to press against the glass from the outside, as if the air itself had solidified in protest against the motion of the train. I am Elias Thorne, Senior Archivist at the Ministry of Records, and I write this from the third-class compartment...
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