The Pale Verdict
The rain did not fall so much as it was pressed into the earth by the weight of the sky, a relentless, grey static that hummed against the leaded glass of the archive window where I sat, my fingers blackened with iron gall ink and the cold dampness of the parchment I was trying to transcribe. I was not meant to be here, in this subterranean vault beneath the Hall of Records, where the air...
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