The Pale Letter
The ink on the parchment had dried to a pale grey, like the skin of a dead lily. Margery held the sheet in her trembling hands, the candlelight catching the jagged edges of the script. It was a letter from her son, Thomas. He had not written in three years. Three years since he had left the manor with his sword and his silence, chasing the rumors of the Black Knight beyond the misted hills....
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