The Pale Bridge
You wake with the taste of copper and old dust in your mouth, the air in the apartment thick with the weight of a silence that has been holding its breath for years. It is not morning, exactly, nor night, but that liminal grey hour when the city outside your window is a smear of neon and shadow, a living thing that breathes in rhythm with your own erratic pulse. You are Elias, though the name...
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