The Pale Exile

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2026-08-22 16:49:33 -

The Pale Exile

The gold band sat in my palm, cold and heavy as a river stone, its surface scratched with the faint, irrevocable map of my sister’s life. I turned it over, watching the light catch the groove where a diamond had once sat, now empty, a small black hole in the metal. Outside, the fog of Bruges pressed against the windowpane, thick and grey, smelling of tanning pits and damp wool. It was the year...

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