The Pale Fracture
The iron gates of the High Keep did not so much close behind us as they did swallow the last shred of daylight, leaving us in a twilight that tasted of rust and stale air, a sensation that settled into my marrow with a weight that felt less like fear and more like the finality of a sentence already passed. I stood in the antechamber of the Grand Inquisitor, my hands bound not with rope but with...
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