The Pale Tale
You’re still here, Elias? The voice cut through the silence of the reading room, sharp and unaccustomed to the dust that hung in the air like a fine, grey fog. Elias Thorne did not look up from the desk, his fingers hovering over the yellowed page of the diary, his knuckles white and swollen with the early arthritis that had settled into them over the last decade. He could smell the ozone from...
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