The Faded Chronicle
The train to London shuddered forward, carrying the weight of your forty years in a single, silver clasp. You sat rigid in the second-class compartment, the silver locket resting in your palm, its surface worn smooth by a decade of anxious touching. Inside it lay the miniature of Margaret, your wife, dead these three years, and the only thing that kept you tethered to the human world. You were...
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