The Pale Path
The bottle was amber. It had been amber for thirty years. Dr. Silas Vane held it up to the window of his office on the fourth floor. The light was thin. It was late afternoon in the city. The sky was the color of old iron. Silas turned the bottle in his hands. The glass was thin. It had worn down. The label was gone. Only the shape remained. He placed it on the desk. The desk was oak. It was...
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