The Pale Letter
The bell tower of St. Jude’s cracked before the sword did. It was a high, thin sound. A scream of stone that tore through the humid air of the courtyard. Below, the iron gates groaned under the weight of the siege. Dust swirled in the shafts of sunlight that pierced the shattered roof. The palace stood in ruins, not of age, but of war. Thomas Bradshaw stood at the edge of the balcony. His armor...
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