The Pale Fracture
The floor gave way beneath me before I understood why. One moment, I was standing in the archive room of St. Jude’s Mill, my boots planted on the warped planks. The next, the wood splintered with a sound like a bone breaking. I fell into the dark. I did not scream. The air in the pit was thick, tasting of wet rot and old iron. My head struck a beam, not hard enough to kill, but hard enough to...
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