The Pale Tale
The iron plate shook in my hands. The steam rose in thin, grey ribbons, twisting into the cold air of the kitchen. My fingers were white. The metal was hot, but I did not feel it. I only felt the weight. It was heavy. Heavier than a man. Heavier than the truth. The house was quiet. The clock on the mantel ticked. Tick. Tick. Tick. It counted the seconds left in the old world. Outside, the wind...
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