The Pale Letter
The envelope was pale, a sickly, translucent white that seemed to absorb the dim light of the room rather than reflect it, and you held it in your hands as if it were a dead bird, its texture rough against the calloused pads of your fingers, a texture that spoke of industrial pulp and mass production, of a world that had long since forgotten the intimacy of hand-picked cotton and the scent of...
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