The Pale Shadows
The rain fell in sheets, cold and relentless, washing the mud from the cobblestones of the Royal Mews. Thomas Ashworth walked with his head down, the leather of his uniform slick and heavy against his shoulders. He was a man of few words, a soldier of the Crown, but tonight his silence was not born of discipline. It was born of fear. Beside him, marching in perfect step despite the chaos of the...
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