The Pale Protocol
The letter is in your hand. Your fingers are white. You are holding the paper against the cold stone of the cell wall. It is a thick sheet, cream-colored, stained with dampness. The ink is faded. You have read it three times. You have memorized every scratch of the quill. "You are dismissed," it says. No signature. No date. Just the words. You put the letter down. You sit on the stone floor....
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