The Pale Exile

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2026-08-20 13:00:11 -

The Pale Exile

The banquet hall smells of roasted duck and stale wine. You sit at the long oak table, your uniform pressed tight against your chest. The fabric is stiff. It holds you up. It is the only thing that holds you up. Around you, the men eat. They laugh. The sound is wet and heavy in the air. You do not eat. You watch the candlelight flicker on the brass plates. It is a mirror for your own face, and...

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