The Pale Echo
The morning Margery left, the air in the hall tasted of wet wool and impending rain, a heavy, suffocating scent that clung to the curtains and the polished mahogany of the sideboard. She did not look back at the man standing by the door, the man who had sworn an oath to protect the crown and now stood useless, his hands shaking not from cold but from the terrible, silent weight of what he had...
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