The Pale Tale
The first thing you notice is the smell of burnt sugar, a cloying, dark sweetness that clings to the back of your throat and refuses to be rinsed away by the lukewarm water of the morning. It is a smell that belongs to the kitchen of the community center, where the old women bake cakes for the neighborhood and where the air is always thick with the humid weight of impending rain. You are seven,...
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