The Pale Path

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2026-08-23 00:43:37 -

The Pale Path

The smell of the vestry was the first thing to hit me, a thick, cloying mix of damp wool and the sweet, rotting scent of the Abbot’s final hours. "Thomas, you must not touch that," the voice of the senior magistrate, Lord Pemberton, echoed from the doorway, harsh and final in the silence. I did not turn. I was thirty years old, a leech to the church, and in my hand I held a small glass vial...

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