The Pale Letter
The snow fell in thick, heavy sheets. It buried the world. Thomas held the shard. It cut his palm. He did not care. The blood ran red against the white. It was a beautiful contrast. He stood in the courtyard. The ice groaned under his boots. He was a soldier. He was a ghost. He was waiting. The wind howled through the bare branches. It sounded like a scream. Thomas watched the gate. He watched...
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