The Pale Exile

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2026-08-17 20:15:04 -

The Pale Exile

The banquet hall of the manor was a cavern of shadow and candlelight, the air thick with the scent of roasted pheasant, beeswax, and the heavy, cloying perfume of lilies arranged in silver vases along the long oak table. Lord Alistair sat at the head, his face a mask of rigid propriety, while the guests murmured around him in the low, conspiratorial tones of men who shared a secret fear. In the...

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