The Pale Banner
The blood on my hands was not mine, nor was it the red of any common wound, but a viscous, iridescent fluid that clung to the skin like wet clay, and I stood in the center of the great hall of the manor house, breathing in ragged, desperate gasps as the shadows in the corners of the room began to lengthen and twist into shapes that defied the geometry of the stone walls. I had come to this...
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