The Pale Exile

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2026-08-18 22:59:35 -

The Pale Exile

The road was mud. My boots sank with a wet, sucking sound. Each step cost a breath. I walked. The mist clung to my shoulders. It felt like a shroud. I was running. I was not running. I was walking. The distinction mattered to them. It did not matter to the mud. I carried a bundle. It was small. It was heavy. Inside was a jar. The jar was glass. It held the last of the garden. The last of the...

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