The Pale Tale
The first thing you notice is the smell, a thick, cloying scent of overripe fruit and wet earth that seems to seep through the floorboards of the house you have inherited, a house that smells of decay so profound it feels less like rot and more like a living thing breathing out its last, stale air. You are standing in the kitchen, the one that was once your father’s domain, the room where he...
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