The Pale Path
I woke with the taste of iron in my mouth, the metallic tang of a penny pressed between my lips. It was a trick I used to play on myself when I was young, a way to remember that I was still alive, still anchored to the physical world. Now, at forty-five, the trick felt less like a game and more like a warning. The room was dim, the light filtering through the heavy velvet curtains in thin, gray...
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