The Pale Tower
The elevator hums, a low, tectonic vibration that you feel not in your ears but in the marrow of your shins, a mechanical heartbeat syncing with the erratic thud of your own pulse as the doors slide shut with a finality that feels less like arrival and more like a burial. You stand in the center of the steel box, surrounded by the sterile, recycled air that tastes of ozone and old dust,...
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