The Pale Tale

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2026-08-19 22:58:50 -

The Pale Tale

The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a gray veil over the slate roofs of Harrowgate, turning the cobblestones into slick, dark mirrors that reflected the low, bruised clouds. Inside the tannery, the air was thick with the smell of lye and rotting hide, a scent that had long since ceased to be a nuisance and become instead the very marrow of my existence. I stood before the great oak table,...

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