The Pale Verdict
The rain did not fall so much as it was driven against the high, narrow windows of the keep, a relentless, grey curtain that blurred the world into a smear of mud and stone, while inside, the air tasted of wet wool, stale tobacco, and the metallic tang of fear that clings to the throat when a verdict is pending and the walls feel as though they are slowly closing in on the heart. Thomas...
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