The Pale Shadows
The silver pocket watch lay in your palm, its case cold and tarnished, the chain coiled like a dead snake around your fingers. You had been holding it for twenty minutes, sitting on the linoleum floor of the kitchen, the surface gritty under your knees, while the rain hammered against the window pane with a rhythmic, relentless violence that shook the frame. The watch had stopped at 3:14 AM,...
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