The Pale Exile

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 10:15:33 -

The Pale Exile

The rain fell on the cobblestones of St. Jude’s Square. It was a thin, cold mist. It smelled of wet wool and old stone. Elias stood by the church door. He held a small, leather satchel. Inside, a single bone. It was pale. It was smooth. It was his mother’s finger. He looked up. The rain obscured the spire. He turned to the street. It was empty. No one was there to see him. No one had seen him...

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