The Pale Bridge
I woke not with a gasp but with the slow, viscous settling of dust in the marrow of my bones, the air in the small stone cell thick with the scent of wet limestone and the metallic tang of old blood that seemed to seep up from the flagstones themselves, a smell that was less an odor than a physical weight pressing against the inside of my skull, and as I raised my head, the first thing I saw...
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