The Pale Protocol
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, sealed with wax the color of a dried berry, the envelope heavy and stiff as a slab of limestone. I had been expecting it for three days, or perhaps three years, for time in the city of Oakhaven had begun to stretch and fold in upon itself like wet paper. I sat in my office, a small room on the fourth floor of the magisterial tower that housed the Civic Registry,...
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