The Pale Exile

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2026-08-19 01:25:51 -

The Pale Exile

The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a gray, weeping curtain that erased the horizon of the mill town. Inside the processing hall, the air was thick with the scent of wet wool and machine oil, a cloying perfume that coated the back of Thomas’s throat. He stood before the carding engine, his hands moving in a rhythm so mechanical it felt less like work and more like a prayer said by someone...

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