The Pale Exile

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2026-08-22 00:35:27 -

The Pale Exile

The wind did not howl at the gates of Ashworth Hall so much as it scraped, a dull and persistent friction against the leaded glass, a sound that Peter had come to associate with the grinding of teeth or the slow erosion of stone, a noise that had become so integral to his existence that he could no longer distinguish the vibration in the ironwork from the tremor in his own bones, for he was...

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