The Pale Exile

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 15:47:23 -

The Pale Exile

The river did not flow; it slithered. It was a thick, oily thing, black as ink and smelling of rot and old iron, winding through the city of Oakhaven like a vein of poison in a diseased body. We had been walking for three days. My feet were blistered, the leather of my boots tearing at the skin, but I did not feel the pain. I felt only the weight of the locket in my pocket, the cold metal...

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