They say blood carries memory.
Mine carries a curse.
I am Paleblood. Born beneath a dying moon, marked by shadows no light can cleanse.
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My family name is whispered in fear and disgust—a lineage soaked in betrayal and old sins.
I never asked for their legacy.
But the curse does not ask.
It clings.
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The nights here are long and bitter, like the taste of ash on my tongue.
Every breath I take feels stolen from the graves of those who came before me.
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They say I bleed pale because my veins hold something unnatural.
Something ancient.
Something waiting.
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I've walked through fires and frost, hunted by hunters who fear what I might become.
I carry their hatred like a second skin.
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The Gate calls to me, a voice twisted in my blood.
It promises power.
It promises release.
But it only offers chains.
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I am both prisoner and key.
And when the Gate opens—
I will either be the salvation or the doom.