The Pale Path
The tremor in my left hand is a mechanical failure, a gear slipping in the complex machinery of my body, and I am currently cataloging the final three boxes of the West Wing’s intake records, a task that must be completed before the mandatory retirement date in three days, or else my pension will be halved. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a senior archivist at St. Jude’s Asylum, and I...
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