The Pale Tale

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2026-08-20 13:00:07 -

The Pale Tale

The air in the tent smelled of stale beer and wet wool. It was a festival of sorts, or perhaps a funeral for the summer that had just ended. Rain drummed against the canvas roof, a relentless, rhythmic beating that seemed to sync with the pulse of the crowd below. Elias stood near the edge, watching the rain. He held a small glass jar in his left hand. Inside, a single white moth rested on its...

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