The Pale Exile

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2026-08-20 15:33:11 -

The Pale Exile

The leather is cold. It has been cold for three years, longer than you can remember. You hold it in your left hand, the palm sweating, the fingers curled around the handle like a root gripping stone. The strap is frayed at the edge. You have worn it thin. You have worn yourself thin. You stand in the antechamber. The floor is marble, polished to a mirror shine that reflects your knees, your...

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