The Pale Letter
"You are still here," the Warden said. His voice was not loud, but it carried the weight of the damp stone walls that enclosed us. "I expected the cold to have taken you by now. Or the silence." I looked up from the ledger. The ink was frozen in the well, a black stone in the center of the parchment. "The cold is merely a thing," I replied. My voice sounded strange to my own ears, thin and...
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