The Pale Tale

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 14:15:05 -

The Pale Tale

The glass was cold against my palm, and the sound of the factory floor outside was not a roar but a low, persistent hum, like a hornet trapped in a wall. I held the pane up to the light, a perfect square of obsidian dark, and watched my own face ripple in the surface, a ghostly reflection that seemed to breathe independently of my lungs. Margaret stood by the window, her back to me, watching...

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