The Pale Verdict
The air in the workshop is thick with the scent of sawdust and old varnish, a smell that has settled into the pores of your skin so deeply that you can no longer distinguish it from your own sweat. You are alone in the back room of the shop, a space that feels less like a business and more like a tomb where you are slowly being embalmed in routine. Your hands are trembling, not from the cold,...
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