The Pale Path

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2026-08-17 12:57:37 -

The Pale Path

The banquet hall does not smell of wine or roasted meat, but of ozone and wet stone, a scent that clings to the back of your throat like a second pulse, and you sit at the head of the table, your hands folded tightly over the silver plate before you, feeling the cold metal bite into your knuckles as if the plate itself were a living thing trying to escape your grasp. Around you, the figures are...

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