The Pale Tale

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 16:29:28 -

The Pale Tale

The house stood alone on the hill, a skeleton of white stone and dark timber. It was my father’s home. It was now my prison. I sat in the kitchen, the silence thick as wool in my throat. The clock ticked. It was the only sound. I waited. He was supposed to be here. The enemy. The one who took the village. The one who burned the fields. I held the rifle across my lap. My hands shook. I wiped...

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