The Pale Tale
He woke to the smell of burnt sugar. It was thick. Heavy. It sat in the air like a fog. Marcus coughed. The sound was dry. A rattling sound. He was in a cell. Stone walls. Cold. The light came from a high window. It was gray. He looked at his hands. They were bound. Rope. He was a prisoner. Or so he thought. The door opened. A man walked in. He wore a suit. It was dark. He carried a tray. On...
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