The Pale Path
The line was drawn in chalk. Thin. White. Fragile. It separated the clean side from the dirty side. It separated the approved from the rejected. I stood on the dirty side. My boots were caked with the red clay of the excavation site. The chalk dust had settled into the creases of my leather apron. It looked like ash. My name is Elias Thorne. I am a stonemason. I build walls. I build...
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