The Pale Tale
The ink on the ledger did not smudge; it bit into the paper like a scar. I sat in the windowless office on the fourth floor of the Halloway & Sons textile mill, the air thick with the scent of starch and old dust. Outside, the fog pressed against the glass, erasing the world beyond the brickwork. I was the night auditor, a position that required a silence so profound it felt like a held breath....
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 2 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση