The Pale Exile

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 08:30:48 -

The Pale Exile

The jar sat on the table. It was glass, thick and cloudy with age. Inside, the salve had turned a dull, bruised purple. I watched it. The light in the room was gray, filtered through the high, barred windows of the keep. Dust motes danced in the beam, indifferent to the weight of my hand. My hand was a weapon. It was built for the grip of a hilt, for the pull of a bowstring. Now it was still....

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