The Pale Path

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 18:59:52 -

The Pale Path

The ice is breaking. You are standing on it. The wind howls through the rafters of the glasshouse. It is a sound like teeth grinding. You are not a person. You are a shape. A thing of frost and will. The air in here is thick. It smells of wet stone and old roses. The glass is dirty. The world outside is a blur of gray and white. You do not see it clearly. You only feel the cold. A man walks...

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