The Pale Meridian
The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Correctional Facility was not designed for celebration, but on the night of the Autumn Equinox, it had been scrubbed of its institutional griminess and draped in a heavy, velvet crimson that seemed to absorb the weak light of the overhead fluorescents, creating a cavernous, suffocating intimacy where the air hung thick with the scent of boiled cabbage, stale...
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