The Pale Verdict
The bell tolls. It does not ring with the warm, wooden resonance of a Sunday morning. It strikes with the cold, metallic finality of a guillotine blade falling. You hear it in your teeth. You feel it in the marrow of your spine. The sound is a verdict. It is the sound of your name being spoken by a voice that has already decided you are guilty. You are standing in the Court of Whispers. The air...
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