The Pale Echo
Margaret Holloway sat alone in the dimly lit sub-basement of the Halloway Industrial Archive, the air thick with the scent of decaying paper and the metallic tang of old iron, while she stared at the single, unblinking eye of the clock on the wall, that cold, mechanical sentinel which held time in its rigid grip and refused to let it slip away. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday, but the...
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