The Pale Path
I woke to the sound of rain. Not gentle rain. Heavy rain. The kind that beats against the glass like a fist demanding entry. I lay still. My heart hammered against my ribs. I was in the study. The old oak desk sat before me. Dust motes danced in the beam of the single lamp. I knew this room. I knew the smell of the books. Leather and decay. I knew the weight of the silence. I reached for the...
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