The Pale Path
The first thing you notice is the sound, a high, thin whine that seems to come from inside the marrow of your own shinbone, vibrating up through the floorboards of the antechamber where you stand, rigid as a statue in a museum, while the air around you tastes of stale coffee and expensive, rotting perfume. You are holding a tray, or perhaps you are holding nothing at all, but your hands are...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews