The Pale Verdict
You stand in the court. The air is thick. It smells of wet stone and old blood. You do not look up. You look at the floor. The floor is cold. The judge speaks. His voice is a dry leaf. He points at you. He points at the thing in your hand. "Bring it forward," he says. You step forward. Your legs are heavy. They are not your legs. They are the legs of a man who has walked too far. You hold the...
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