The Pale Tale
Elias left the kitchen. He did not look back. The door clicked shut with a finality that echoed in the small, brick-walled room. Outside, the air smelled of coal smoke and wet wool. It was November in Manchester. The rain fell in thin, cold sheets against the windows of the shop. He held the jar in his left hand. It was a thick glass vessel, sealed with wax. Inside, the mixture sloshed gently....
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