The Pale Exile
The rain does not fall here so much as it settles, a gray, suffocating mist that clings to the skin of the city of Aethelgard, a place that exists in the fold between one Tuesday and the next, a jurisdiction where the laws of physics are suggestions and the laws of men are the only hard truth you have. You are sitting in the back of a taxi that hums with a low, electric anxiety, the driver a...
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