The Pale Tale
The iron key was not a key in the way a child understands a key, as a simple instrument of opening and closing, but rather a heavy, cold anchor that had been cast into the deepest waters of the household’s memory. It hung from the neck of Silas Vane, a thick chain of blackened links that dug into the flesh of his throat with every step he took toward the Grand Hall, where the Duke’s annual...
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