The Pale Tale

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 23:34:56 -

The Pale Tale

The moth is dead. You hold it in your palm. Its wings are tattered. They are grey. They are thin as old paper. You do not feel guilt. You feel light. You are in the Hall. The Hall is not a building. It is a space. The air is cold. The light is white. It has no source. It comes from nowhere. It is everywhere. You look down. Your hands are clean. You scrubbed them. You scrubbed them for hours....

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews