The Pale Letter
The gavel fell. It was a small sound. A dry click. Like a knuckle cracking in a silent room. Elara did not look up. She looked at the letter on the desk. It was white. Pale as bone. Pale as the winter sky outside the high windows of the Hall of Judgment. She had written it herself. Every word. Every mark of ink. “Read it,” said the High Judge. His voice was deep. It vibrated in the floor. It...
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