The Faded Paradox
The envelope from Warden Halloway arrived on a Tuesday, the paper heavy and cream-colored, smelling faintly of the formaldehyde and stale tobacco that permeated the administrative wings of the Blackwood Penitentiary, and inside it lay the original confession sheet, a document that appeared, under the harsh fluorescent hum of your office, to be nothing more than a blank rectangle of high-grade...
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