The Pale Tale
The ink was still wet on the denial, the black stain spreading like a bruise on the heavy, cream-colored paper. I stared at it, not reading the words, but watching the liquid settle into the grain of the sheet. It was a Tuesday. I knew it was a Tuesday because the rain had been falling since dawn, a steady, gray sheet that turned the window into a pane of frosted glass, blurring the brickwork...
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