The Pale Path

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2026-08-17 22:58:20 -

The Pale Path

The table was long enough to swallow the room, draped in linen so white it seemed to vibrate against the dimness of the dining hall. You stood at the head, holding a glass of wine that had turned the color of old bruises, watching the steam rise from the roasted pheasant in the center. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of rosemary, beeswax, and the metallic tang of your own fear. You had...

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