The Pale Fracture
You wake in the dark. The cold is a solid thing. It presses against your skin like a wet wool blanket. You are in a cell. The stone is rough under your cheek. It bites. You do not move. You know the layout of this place. You have known it for years. The walls are thick. They are old. They are gray. They are dying. You are a warden. Or you were. Now you are just a body in a box. Your name is...
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