The Pale Tale
“You will break,” said the Lord. It was a simple sentence. It hung in the air like smoke. Elias did not answer. He stood in the courtyard. The stones were cold. His hands were bare. They were stained with old blood. New blood had not yet dried. The Lord smiled. It was a thin smile. He held a cup of wine. The wine was dark. It looked like mud. “Break,” the Lord repeated. Elias looked at the...
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