The Pale Tale
The heating unit in the hallway had been rattling for three days, a dry, metallic cough that seemed to sync with the thumping of Elara’s own pulse. She stood in the doorway of Room 4, the air thick with the smell of antiseptic and the faint, sweet decay of dying tissue, and watched the monitor’s line flatline into a jagged, erratic spike. The stone in her left pocket burned against her hip, a...
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