The Pale Exile
The rain did not fall so much as it insisted, a heavy, grey curtain that blurred the distinction between the wet cobblestones of the old city and the wet stone walls of the hospital where Silas Vane lay awake, his body a cage of bone and bruise, his mind a labyrinth of questions he had spent thirty years refusing to ask. He was a man who had once moved through the world like a blade through...
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