The Pale Exile

σε πρόσθεσε στο Literature

2026-08-19 09:58:45 -

The Pale Exile

The cold bit into the marrow. I sat on the edge of the cot, my hands wrapped around a clay bowl. It was empty. It had been empty for three days. My name is Thomas. I was a man of fists and feet, of broken knuckles and bruised ribs, but hunger is a fist that does not break. It only hollows you out. The town of Oakhaven was a place of soot and silence. The mills groaned in the night, a low,...

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