The Pale Shadows
The envelope was thick, the paper cream-colored and stiff with age, the seal broken but the flap still curled inward. You held it under the fluorescent tube of the archive room, the light buzzing a low, sick note that vibrated in your teeth. Inside was a single sheet, typed on a ribbon that had run dry, the letters faint and jagged. It was an invoice. Not for you. For the home. St. Jude’s Home...
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