The Pale Mist

added blog Literature

2026-08-25 03:35:31 -

The Pale Mist

The matchbook was cold in my palm, its red cover worn to a pale pink, the paper soft as skin. I held it up to the gaslight in the constabulary, the flame flickering against the glass, illuminating the soot on my fingers. Tomorrow, Magistrate Halloway would decide if I was a man or a thing, and I needed to know if the truth was still breathing. The mist was thick that evening, a pale, bruised...

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