The Pale Tale

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 08:09:38 -

The Pale Tale

The wool was frayed at the cuff. I watched the threads unravel in the harsh light of the hall. My hands were steady. They were always steady. That was my job. To hold the shape when the fabric failed. I stood before the High Council. The room smelled of beeswax and old stone. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light. I was small. I was quiet. I was the underling. The scribe’s shadow. My...

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