The Pale Bridge
The road you walk is not a path but a wound, a long, red tear in the skin of the earth that stretches toward a horizon you know is a lie. You have been walking for what feels like centuries, though the sun has only risen and set three times since you left the burning village of Oakhaven. Your boots, once leather and sturdy, are now rotting things, fusing with the mud and the blood that has...
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