The Pale Shadows
I The rain had stopped for nine days, leaving the pampas air heavy with wet wool and rusted iron, and I sat in the corner of the station, my shadow pale and translucent, anchored to the floorboards like a stain that would not scrub out. I remember the cold first, a damp chill that settled into the joints of my hands, which were now useless, stiff as dried leather. The keyboard of the closing...
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