The Pale Tale
The fragment of the fern, cold and jagged as a shard of old glass, lay in your palm, its veins still faintly visible beneath the dust of the museum’s basement, a piece of green life that had died before the first man walked upright, now broken by the hand of a man who claimed to protect it. You are Dr. Elias Thorne, and you are standing in the rain-slicked courtyard of the Natural History...
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