The Pale Tale
The ink bled out of the page before Elias could stop it, a dark smear that looked less like a line and more like a wound. He stared at the map, the graphite smudged and the India ink dissolving into the paper’s fibers, and felt a cold prickle at the base of his neck. This was the third time this week. The town of Harrow’s End sat in a valley that seemed to hold the fog in its throat, and the...
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