The Voice in the Dark
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That night, Emily dreamed of a wedding. She was the bride. Her dress shimmered like frost. The groom stood at the altar, his face veiled in shadow. As she reached for his hand, it turned to bone.
She woke with a scream—and a whisper in her ear.
"Come to me."
The next morning, she found a white rose on her doorstep, fresh and damp with morning dew. It hadn't bloomed in Witherby for over a century.
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