The Pale Exile

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2026-08-26 10:57:04 -

The Pale Exile

Ketil Odden was forty-two, and the only thing I owned that was worth more than the debt on my house was the tremor in my hands, which I had spent twenty years trying to still. I stood in the center of the banquet hall, the air heavy with roasted lamb and the metallic tang of my own fear, while the guests laughed at jokes I no longer remembered making. My pulse was a metronome set to a tempo I...

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