The Pale Verdict
The knife was in your hand before you remembered your own name, the blade slick with the dark, viscous blood of the pig that had been screaming only moments ago, its throat opened wide in a gash that looked less like a wound and more like a mouth trying to speak the last of its prayers into the cold November air. You stood in the center of the square in Oakhaven, a town that smelled of wet...
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