The Pale Protocol
The letter lay on the oak table, its seal unbroken, the wax cool under the candlelight. It was a command from the High Constable, written in ink that had long since dried into a black scar. It ordered the removal of the anomaly. It demanded the erasure of the stain upon the family name. It was a technical directive, precise and cold, stripping away the poetry of fear until only the mechanics of...
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