The Pale Exile

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2026-08-22 00:42:47 -

The Pale Exile

The candlelight in the great hall of Blackwood Manor did not flicker; it burned with a steady, predatory calm, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air like suspended souls. Professor Arthur Pendelton sat at the head of the long oak table, his hands resting on the polished wood, pale and thin as birch bark. He was a man who had spent forty years mapping the invisible, cataloging the...

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