The Pale Tale

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2026-08-18 03:02:26 -

The Pale Tale

The air in the infirmary tasted of copper and boiled starch, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat and refused to wash away. I sat on the edge of the iron cot, my hands folded tightly in my lap, watching the condensation bead on the windowpane. Outside, the fog had swallowed the town of Harrowgate, erasing the chimneys of the textile mills and the blackened face of the river until...

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