The Pale Door
The seal is cracked. You see it now. A hairline fracture in the wax, a vein of white running through the crimson like a broken bone under skin. It has been there for three days. You have tried to ignore it. You have smoothed your thumb over the ridge, feeling the grit, the roughness, the imperfection. But the mark remains. It is the sigil of the High Court. It is the mark of your authority. And...
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