The Pale Banner

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2026-08-18 16:43:45 -

The Pale Banner

The fire started in the flour mill. It was a Tuesday, bright and dry, the kind of day that promised nothing but dust and heat. Thomas Bradshaw stood on the cobblestones of High Street, watching the sky turn the color of a bruise. The wind howled, a low, guttural sound that vibrated in his teeth. He did not run. He held the jar. It was small, ceramic, glazed in a pale blue that had chipped at...

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