The Pale Dance

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2026-08-22 23:50:02 -

The Pale Dance

I counted the hours first. Fourteen since I last slept. Six since I last ate. Two since I stopped hearing my own heartbeat in the quiet of the archive. The air in the basement smelled of damp wool and old paper, a scent so thick it felt like breathing through a wet cloth. I was twenty-four, a junior archivist at St. Jude’s Orphanage, and I had one goal: to secure my permanent position before...

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