The Pale Tale

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2026-08-19 07:58:31 -

The Pale Tale

The orchid was dying. It sat on the desk, its leaves turning the color of old bruises, a pale violet fading into a sickly, translucent grey. I knew the species. *Phalaenopsis*. The moth orchid. I knew its needs. Water. Light. Air. But I could not save it. Not while Marcus watched. Marcus stood by the window. He did not look at me. He looked at the street outside, where the rain slicked the...

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