The Pale Exile
The first crack in the plaster ran like a vein of white lightning across the ceiling of Room 402, splitting the silence in the middle of the night. I was awake, of course. I was always awake when the building groaned. The radiator clanked, a dry, metallic cough that echoed in the hollow of my chest, and I watched the fracture widen, a jagged mouth opening into the dark above. It was not a...
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