The Pale Exile
The letter lay on the desk, the ink still wet and glistening under the harsh fluorescent tube. It was a simple memo, three lines long, signed by the new overseer, Mr. Vane. It told me to report to the cellar for the quarterly audit. I picked it up. My fingers brushed the paper, and the tremor started, a fine, rapid vibration that ran from my knuckles to my elbow. I set the memo down. I looked...
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