The Faded River
The fever took the left hand first. It was not a slow dimming. It was a severing. One moment, I held the pen with the steady, academic grace expected of a man of my station. The next, the fingers curled. The skin turned the color of old ash. The bone beneath seemed to dissolve into water. I am Dr. Arthur Penhaligon. I have spent forty years studying the architecture of the human body. I have...
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