The Pale Path

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 08:58:51 -

The Pale Path

The cold bit through my wool. I pressed my back against the stone. The walls were damp. Moss grew in the cracks. I was alone. The silence was heavy. It pressed on my eardrums. I breathed in. I breathed out. The air tasted of iron and rot. I am a seer. Or so they say. I am a servant. That is the truth. The abbey needs a servant. The abbey does not need a god. I am not a god. I am a man with dirt...

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