The Pale Tale

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 10:31:07 -

The Pale Tale

The rain fell in sheets. It drummed on the tin roof of the orphanage. It was a cold, industrial gray. The year was 1912. The city smelled of coal and wet wool. Tom was seven. He sat on the floor. His knees were pulled to his chest. He watched a moth. The moth was white. It was dead. It lay on the dark wood. Tom picked it up. His fingers were small. They were dirty. He held the moth gently. It...

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