The Pale Protocol
October 12, 1998 The smell of wet wool and rusted iron hangs in the air of the workshop, a scent that has seeped into the very grain of the wood where I have spent the last three months constructing the model of the Oakhaven Mill for the county architectural prize. My hands are stained with the dust of pine shavings and the black ink of my drafting pens, and I can feel the ache in my left knee,...
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