The Pale Protocol
The letters were written in a script that had long since lost its sharpness, the ink faded to the color of dried blood or old tea, resting on the heavy parchment of a time when the world was held together by stone and silence. It was the autumn of the year the old King’s reign had finally cracked under the weight of its own vanity, and I, Elara Vance, found myself standing in the shadow of the...
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