The Pale Shadows
The rain in Prague does not wash things clean; it only makes the grime slicker. "You are being difficult, Elias." Chairman Havel’s voice was dry, like the rustling of dead leaves in a sealed envelope. He sat behind a desk that was less a piece of furniture and more a fortress of oak, cluttered with the artifacts of his power: a brass clock that ticked too loudly, a stack of rejection letters...
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