The Pale Tale

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2026-08-23 02:14:38 -

The Pale Tale

The crystal goblet in my right hand trembled, not from the weight of the wine, but from the phantom ache of a finger that no longer existed. I sat at the head table of the Ironworks Guild banquet, my left hand resting flat on the white linen, the index finger missing, the stump raw and sensitive under the cuff of my shirt. The hall was a cavern of gold leaf and mahogany, the air thick with the...

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