The Pale Exile
The pen in your hand is heavy, a solid brass weight that feels less like a tool and more like a piece of cold iron you have been carrying for years. You are sitting in the small, windowless office on the fourth floor of Halloway & Sons Insurance, the room smelling of stale coffee and the particular dry dust that settles on old paper. It is 11:42 PM on a Tuesday in November, and the rain has...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews