The Pale Protocol
The ink is still wet on the parchment, and the smell of iron gall and damp wool clings to my hands as I write this to the Council of the High Watch. I do not expect you to read it with the same urgency that the wind presses against the shattered glass of my tower, but I write because the silence here has become too loud, and because I am no longer the creature I was when I crossed the Threshold...
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