The Pale Door
The rain has been falling for three days, a cold and relentless sheet that turns the cobblestones of the Old Quarter into slick, black mirrors, and you are standing in the center of the town square, watching the water pool around the boots of the magistrate’s men, who are standing in a loose, mocking circle around you, their breath steaming in the damp air as they wait for you to speak, to beg,...
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