The Pale Protocol
The letter was found in the ash. It crumbled. A dry, grey flake. Thomas held it. He was in the hall. The King’s hall. Candles burned low. The wax pooled. Red. Like blood. But it was wax. Always wax. Thomas was not Thomas. He was the shadow. The shadow on the wall. The shadow of the King. The King was dead. Or so they said. The King lay in state. White face. Blue veins. Still. Thomas stood by...
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