The Pale Exile

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2026-08-20 05:40:56 -

The Pale Exile

The heavy oak door of the family estate groaned in its hinges, a sound that had long since become synonymous with my own heavy, leaden footsteps, and as I stood there on the threshold, the air inside was thick with the scent of beeswax and old paper, a smell that clung to the fibers of my wool coat like a persistent, unwelcome ghost. I had come to speak with my uncle, the head of the household,...

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