The Pale Tale
Chapter One Yelena Ionescu stood in the kitchen, the weight of the deed already heavy in her hand, and looked back at the day she had sold her home. The oak tree outside the window was shedding leaves in July, a quiet domestic anomaly she had ignored until it was too late to do anything else. The air in the house was thick, not with heat, but with the smell of wet paper and old wood, a scent...
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