Description
The wind whispered down from the north that evening, dry and thin as old bones. It stirred the tall prairie grass in slow, haunted waves, like fingers raking through a graveyard.
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Samples
1
Default Sample
The morning crept in like a thief, pale and uncertain. Frost had settled on the windowpanes overnight, leaving delicate patterns like spider webs caught in silver. The old rocking chair by the hearth creaked softly, though no one sat there, speaking its own language of wood and time.