The Pale Banner
The bread was stale. It sat on the wooden table, a block of grey silence. Ellis stared at it. He was twelve. His hands shook. Not from cold. From fear. The room was small. Stone walls. A single window. Rain tapped against the glass. A soft, relentless drumming. Like a heartbeat. Or a warning. Ellis looked up. The door opened. A shadow fell across the floor. Then a face. Old. Wrinkled like a...
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