The Pale Banner
The wind did not merely blow through the high, cold corridors of the Whitehall Palace; it screamed, a thin, shrieking sound that seemed to peel the varnish from the wooden banisters and strip the color from the tapestries, leaving only the bare, gray bones of the structure exposed to the night. It was a sound that had no beginning and no end, a constant, grinding friction against the soul, and...
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