The Pale Altar
The ink was fading. I watched it bleed into the parchment, softening the sharp edges of the decree until the words became a gray smear. It was a document of power. A seal of authority. And yet, in my hands, it was just wet paper. I held it over the fire. The heat warped the edges. The cursive looped, then unlooped. The name of the King, the symbol of my obedience, dissolved into nothing. I let...
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