The Pale Fracture
The bone in your pocket is cold, but it hums against your thigh like a live wire. You are twelve years old, and you have learned that fear is a sound you make only when you are alone, and you are not alone, because Mara is breathing in the cellar below, her chest rising and falling in the dark. The year is 1924, and the air in the house smells of damp wool and the metallic tang of the radiator,...
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