The Pale Exile

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2026-08-21 16:22:38 -

The Pale Exile

You wake in the kitchen. The linoleum is cold. Your cheek is pressed against the white square tiles. You do not move. You wait for the ceiling to return. It does. The light is gray. It is the color of old milk. You sit up. Your hands are in the flour. They are white up to the wrists. You pull them back. The dust clings to your skin. It feels like ash. You look at the counter. The bowl is there....

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