The Pale Tale
The air in the valley was thick with the scent of rotting lilies and old iron, a heavy, cloying perfume that clung to the back of your throat and refused to leave, and you walked the muddy track with your boots sunk deep into the mire, the mud sucking at your heels with a wet, rhythmic pull that matched the slow, grinding ache in your joints, which had been stiffening for years, a slow...
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