The Pale Fracture
The water in the sink was brown, thick with silt and the metallic taste of rust. I turned the tap off, the sound a dry click, and stared at the droplets gathering on the chrome lip. Outside, the November wind screamed against the single pane of glass, a sound like something alive trying to get in. Inside, the air was still, heavy with the smell of damp wool and the faint, sweet rot of the...
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