The Pale Tale

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2026-08-19 07:29:50 -

The Pale Tale

The soup was cold. It sat in the iron pot, a thick, grey sludge of turnips and bone broth, congealing in the drafty air of the chapel annex. Elias stood by the hearth, stirring the dregs with a wooden spoon. He did not need to heat it. He needed to watch it. "You look thin, Elias." He did not turn. He knew the voice. It was Father Thomas, the abbot’s steward. The man’s footsteps were heavy on...

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