The Pale Exile

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 05:23:31 -

The Pale Exile

The rain tapped against the windowpane. A steady, rhythmic drumming. It was late. The house was old. Old houses hold sound. They swallow it and spit it back out as echoes. Thomas stood by the fire. He did not look at the door. He knew who was coming. Or rather, he knew who *would* come. The cycle was fixed. It was a wheel. And he was the axle. "Is he here?" The voice was soft. Too soft. It...

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