The Pale Echo

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2026-08-20 06:01:06 -

The Pale Echo

The smell of boiled lard and stale lavender hung in the air of the Eastwing, a heavy, cloying veil that seemed to settle into the pores of my skin long after the kitchen staff had retired for the night. I stood before the great mirror in the corridor, the glass cold and indifferent, reflecting a woman who looked older than her thirty-two years, her eyes hollowed by a vigil that had stretched...

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