The Pale Shadows
The smell of sulfur is in your teeth. It sits there, a metallic film, tasting of the city’s decay and the burning of old newspapers in the alleyways. You are standing on the corner of 4th and Main. The fog is thick. It rolls in from the river, swallowing the gas lamps one by one. Your uniform is damp. The wool is heavy, soaked with the condensation of a night that refuses to end. You are a...
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