The Pale Path
You wake with the taste of chalk dust and old iron on your tongue, a metallic residue that clings to the back of your throat like a secret you have forgotten how to keep, and the first thing you see is not the ceiling of your cramped flat but the vast, pale expanse of the library atrium, where the light filters through the high, stained-glass windows in long, dusty beams that seem to suspend...
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