The Pale Echo
The coal dust had settled into a fine, grey silt that coated every surface of the mill, turning the light from the high, grimy windows into a bruised, amber haze that seemed to hold the breath of the entire facility in suspension. I sat at my desk, a slab of dark oak that had long since lost its varnish and gleam, and watched the way the dust motes danced in the shafts of light, drifting with a...
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