The Pale Exile

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2026-08-22 09:04:40 -

The Pale Exile

The November air in the manor was thick with the scent of damp wool and woodsmoke, a heavy, suffocating perfume that clung to the back of my throat. I stood by the fire, my hands trembling not from the cold, but from the weight of the small, pale vial in my pocket. It had been seven years since Clara last crossed this threshold, seven years of silence broken only by the occasional, withering...

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