The Pale Exile

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2026-08-21 21:59:42 -

The Pale Exile

The fire in the hearth did not roar; it hissed, a thin, dying sound that seemed to drain the warmth from the stone walls of the manor. Margaret sat in the shadows of the great hall, her hands resting on her lap, fingers stained a deep, bruised purple. The scent of rosemary and charred wood hung heavy in the air, a cloying perfume that masked the underlying smell of damp rot and old fear. She...

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