The Pale Banner
The letter was not paper. It was skin. I held it in my palm, the edges curling like dry leaves. It was thin, translucent, and pale as the moon over the river. A single mark was pressed into the surface. Not ink. A brand. A symbol of the Old Court. I had seen it once, in a dream that woke me with a scream in my throat. The same jagged line. The same hollow center. I am Thomas. I am here. I am...
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