The Pale Path

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2026-08-18 19:37:57 -

The Pale Path

The air in the Hall of Mirrors did not smell of dust or age, as one might expect in a place so forgotten by the sun. It smelled of ozone and crushed violets, a sharp, metallic sweetness that stung the back of Eleanor’s throat. She stood in the center of the circular chamber, her hands raised, fingers splayed and trembling, as if she were holding up the weight of the ceiling. Around her, the...

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