The Pale Dance
The jar sits on the counter. It is glass. It is heavy. It is filled with a substance that was once food. Now it is only residue. You hold it. Your fingers are white. The ceramic of the bowl beneath it is chipped. You have held this jar for three days. You have not slept. The room is small. The walls are stone. The air is cold. It smells of damp wool and old iron. This is the kitchen of the...
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