The Pale Banner
The letter on the desk was not a letter, but a seal, and it was peeling. It lay there, a square of parchment so thin it was almost translucent, adhered to the polished oak of the intake desk with a residue that looked like old glue or perhaps dried blood. The symbol on it was a simple cross, but the ink had bled, spreading into a jagged, starburst shape that pulsed with a faint, sickly...
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