The Pale Protocol
The wax on the seal is cold. It has been cold for three days. I have held this letter in my hands until the paper has softened under the sweat of my palms, until the ink has begun to bleed into the fibers like a slow, dark bruise. I am writing this not to the King, nor to the Lord Protector, but to myself. I am writing it to the man I was before the hunger took him. Before the silence. Before...
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