The Pale Dance
The silence in the antechamber of the High Court was not an absence of sound, but a presence, heavy and suffocating as the velvet drapes that lined the walls. Thomas Bradshaw stood alone, his back to the massive oak doors, his eyes fixed on the single pane of stained glass that filtered the afternoon light into a bruised purple hue. In his left hand, he held the object that had defined his...
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