The Pale Letter
The fluorescent lights of the basement archive hum a low, sickly note that vibrates directly against the teeth, a frequency you have learned to mistake for your own heartbeat over the last six hours of solitary confinement, a trap of paper and dust where the air tastes of decaying lignin and the metallic tang of fear. You are here, in this subterranean labyrinth of municipal records, because...
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