The Pale Echo

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 14:42:10 -

The Pale Echo

The hall smelled of roasted pheasant and old dust. It was a thick, cloying scent that clung to the back of the throat. I stood near the fireplace, holding a glass of sherry I had not sipped in an hour. The crystal was cold against my palm. It bit into the skin. My hand trembled. Not from the chill, but from the weight of what I carried in my pocket. A key. Small, brass, worn smooth by years of...

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