The Pale Protocol

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2026-08-21 17:42:52 -

The Pale Protocol

I dreamt of my hands. They were not my hands. They were clay. White, soft, and yielding. I shaped them in the dark. I made a fist. I opened it. The clay held the shape of a skull. It was my brother’s skull. It was beautiful. It was wrong. I woke in the tower room. The air smelled of damp stone and old iron. I looked at my palms. They were flesh. They were red with blood. Not clay. Just blood. I...

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