The Pale Verdict
The seal was blue. It was the color of a bruise on the inside of a cheek, the blue of deep water, the blue of a lie that had calcified into bone. Arthur Penhaligon stared at it. It sat in the center of the heavy cream paper, a perfect circle of indigo wax. He had made it. His thumb had pressed the mold, his breath had fogged the cold metal, his hands had shaken as the wax set. It was his mark....
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