The Pale Exile
The first thing that went wrong was the sound, a wet, tearing crack like a celery stalk snapping in the dark, which made Marcus stop dead in the middle of the kitchen, his hand still resting on the cold steel of the refrigerator handle. He was seven years old, small for his age, with a head of hair that refused to be tamed and eyes that were always looking for something that wasn't there. The...
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