The Pale Letter
You are the stone. You are the mortar. You are the cold, unyielding geometry that holds the roof of the world against the encroaching dark. This is not a metaphor you choose to wear; it is the substance of your being, a truth that seeps into your marrow as surely as the frost seeps into the earth in the highlands of the old kingdom. You stand in the courtyard of the Palace of Whispers, a place...
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