The Pale Verdict
You wake in the cold, not with a startle but with a slow, viscous realization that the dream has not fully released you, leaving your limbs heavy and your mind fogged by the residual heat of the sleeping court. You are in the antechamber, a space of high, vaulted ceilings where the air smells of damp stone and old, crushed lavender, the scent of a palace that has forgotten how to breathe. The...
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