The Pale Exile

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2026-08-21 14:20:22 -

The Pale Exile

The air in the Hall of Whispers was thick with the scent of roasted pheasant and the metallic tang of old blood, a perfume that clung to the velvet curtains and settled into the pores of the skin, heavy as a burial shroud. We were gathered there, the artisans and merchants of Oakhaven, beneath the vaulted ceiling where the painted saints stared down with eyes that had seen centuries of silence,...

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