The Pale Path

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2026-08-19 22:37:06 -

The Pale Path

The rain struck the leaded glass of the workshop with a rhythmic, indifferent tap. It was a cold Tuesday in November, the year the mills were closing. I sat at the bench, my hands steady, though my heart was not. Before me lay the commission. A set of six silver spoons for the Alder family. Simple work. Yet my fingers trembled. I looked at the metal. It was pale. It was bright. It reflected the...

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