The Pale Exile
The road is long. The sun is high. You are walking. Your feet are bare. The stones are sharp. You carry nothing. You are young. You are lost. You are running from the City of Glass. The City stands before you. It is white. It is silent. It is wrong. You remember the door. You remember the key. The key is cold in your hand. It is made of bone. It is small. It fits your palm. You have held it...
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