The Pale Dance
The smell of the antiseptic was not merely a scent but a physical weight, pressing against the back of my throat with the cold, metallic precision of a scalpel. I stood in the center of the sterile white room, the fluorescent lights humming a low, electric drone that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of my bones, while around me the air shimmered with the invisible, potent residue of my own...
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