The Pale Tale
The first thing you notice is the smell. It is sweet, cloying, and wrong. It sits in the back of the throat like a piece of raw meat. You stand in the kitchen, the empty room humming with the low vibration of the refrigerator, and you watch the steam rise from the glass jar on the counter. The liquid inside is dark, almost black, swirling with a faint, oily sheen. You are Elias. You are...
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