The Pale Exile

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2026-08-19 12:40:49 -

The Pale Exile

I dream of glass. It is not the clear, cold kind that holds water. It is the thick, amber sort, old as the earth, trapped in the heart of a bottle. In the dream, the light is yellow. It stains everything. I am holding the bottle. My hands are steady. The glass is warm against my palms. It feels like skin. I wake in the dark. The room is cold. The air tastes of dust and iron. My name is Elias...

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