The Pale Tale
The ink was wet. It bled into the parchment like a bruise forming under skin. Elias stared at the mark. It was not a letter. It was a sigil. A circle bisected by a jagged line. He had seen it before. In the dream. In the blood. "Read it," said Mara. Her voice was low. Rough. Like gravel under a boot. Elias did not move. His hands trembled. The quill lay on the table. The wax seal was broken....
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