The Pale Bridge
The frost on the windowpane had formed a pattern that looked suspiciously like a face, a long-nosed, sneering face that seemed to mock the thin soup in my bowl. I sat in the corner of the Great Hall, the stone walls sweating with the chill of the deep winter, and tried to ignore the hunger that gnawed at my stomach like a rat. It was the third day since the King’s decree, and the third day...
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