The Pale Letter
The banquet hall of the old Stonehaven Manor was a tomb dressed in silk, the air thick with the cloying scent of lilies and the metallic tang of fear that only those of us who had served in the special division could recognize. I sat at the head of the long mahogany table, my hands resting on the polished surface, feeling the cold seep through the cotton of my dress shirt, a chill that had...
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