The Pale Fracture
The letter lay on the desk, the paper yellowed at the edges, smelling of damp wool and stale tobacco. It was a standard municipal notice, form 44-B, regarding the structural integrity of St. Jude’s Cathedral. I signed it. My pen scratched against the fiber, a dry, rasping sound in the empty office. Outside, the wind pressed against the glass, a low, persistent moan that had been building for...
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