The Pale Exile
The rain hit the glass. It sounded like static. I sat on the edge of the bed. The sheets were cold. I looked at the ring. It was on the nightstand. The gold was dull. The diamond was chipped. It was my mother’s ring. She had given it to me before she died. She said, Keep it safe. I kept it safe. I wore it every day for twenty years. I never took it off. Not once. Not even to wash my hands. The...
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