The Pale Exile

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 00:19:34 -

The Pale Exile

You are walking. The road is not a road. It is a strip of pale bone laid across the dark. You walk on it. You must keep walking. To stop is to fall. To fall is to end. In your hand, you hold a box. It is small. It is heavy. It is made of wood that smells of rain and rot. Inside the box is a mirror. It is cracked. A single fracture runs from top to bottom. Like a vein. Like a scar. Like a river...

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