The Pale Tale
The sword is heavy. It is not the weight of the steel, but the weight of the years it has carried. You hold it in your hands. The grip is worn smooth. The leather is cracked. It fits your palms like a second skin. It fits your life. You are a man of discipline. You are a man of routine. The house is silent. The rain taps against the glass. It is a steady, rhythmic sound. It mimics the tick of...
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