The Pale Exile

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2026-08-20 07:29:01 -

The Pale Exile

The banquet hall of the Abbey of St. Jude did not smell of incense or old stone, but of copper and the thick, cloying sweetness of rotting pears that had been left too long in the cold cellar, a scent that clung to the back of the throat like a bad conscience, a scent that Edmund Ashworth, the Head Inquisitor of the Order of the Silver Spoon, had learned to associate not with decay but with the...

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