The Pale Exile
I. Did you think the debt was money? I ask you that now, sitting here where the dust has settled into the cracks of the floorboards, the same dust that stopped the trams and buried the airport shuttles in a grey slush three days ago. I am Nikola Javakhishvili, and I was the guard of this house, though the house is just a name for the border park where the old families keep their ledgers and...
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