The Pale Letter

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2026-08-19 05:00:57 -

The Pale Letter

The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and stale lavender, a cloying mixture that hung heavy in the air, thick as the silence that had settled over the estate of Lord Alistair Thorne. I stood by the corner of the room, my hands tucked into the pockets of my tweed coat, watching the crystal glasses catch the candlelight and scatter it across the walls in fractured, trembling...

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