The Pale Letter
The ledger showed forty-three hours of unpaid labor, a sum that weighed heavier than the dust in the room. Elias Thorne counted the entries with a charcoal pencil, the tip snapping against the paper as he tallied the cost of his silence. He was thirty-four, an archivist of the sub-basement, and he had not eaten a proper meal in two days. The air here tasted of chalk and old blood, a dry,...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews