The Pale Garden
14th of October, 189x The debt is due at the hour of three, and the silence in the workshop is so absolute that I can hear the blood rushing in my own ears, a low and rhythmic drumming that seems to come from the walls themselves rather than my head. I have spent the last four hours hunched over the furnace, my arms trembling with a fatigue that has nothing to do with the heat, trying to coax a...
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