The Pale Shadows
The stone is cold. It is always cold. You press your palm against the rough surface of the cell wall. The dampness soaks into your skin. It is a familiar chill. You are seven years old. You are small. The room is small. The light is gray. The Master enters. He wears black. His shoes make no sound. He holds a book. He looks at you. He does not blink. "Read," he says. You open the book. The...
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