The Pale Path
The rain hit the windowpanes of the old manor with a soft, persistent hiss. It was a sound like static, or perhaps like blood draining from a wound. Elias stood by the glass, his back to the room. He was a man of few words, but his silence was heavy, dense as the fog rolling in from the coast. He held his left hand up, palm open, fingers spread. The skin was pale, translucent. Under the...
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