The Pale Letter
The walls were closing in. I felt the plaster pressing against my eyes, a soft, suffocating embrace. I was not in a room. I was in the wall. The architecture was alive. It breathed. I could feel the pulse of the beams, the thrum of the pipes, the slow, geological shift of the foundation. I knew this. I had always known this. The building did not hide its secrets. It spoke. I listened. I am Dr....
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