The Pale Fracture
The dream was made of white stone. It had no doors. It had no windows. Just walls, thick and cold, rising up into a sky that did not exist. Elias woke with the taste of dust in his mouth. He sat up in the narrow cot. The room was small. The air was stale. He looked at his hands. They were stained with ink. They were stained with fear. He stood up. His knees popped. He was old. He was tired. He...
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