The Pale Exile

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2026-08-22 15:48:17 -

The Pale Exile

The trowel bit into the wet plaster, a dull, gritty sound that seemed to vibrate through the bones of Elias Thorne’s hand, and he paused, wiping the grey dust from his brow with a cloth that was already stiff with grime. The cellar of Blackwood Manor was cold, a damp cold that seeped into the marrow, and the air tasted of rot and old paper, a scent that clung to the back of his throat like a...

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