The Pale Shadows
The moonwort in the terracotta pot on my desk pulsed with a faint, rhythmic luminescence, a ghostly blue that seemed to breathe in time with my own weakening heart. I held the scalpel in my right hand, the blade dull from repeated use, and pressed it against the vein of my left forearm, watching the crimson bead swell before I let it fall, drop by precious drop, onto the pale, waxy leaves. The...
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