The Pale Shadows
The iron collar had been forged in the blacksmith’s shop of Aldric Vane, a man whose hands were permanently stained with the rust of others’ sins. It was a heavy thing, wrought of dark metal and set with three teeth of bone, designed not to hold a beast, but to bind a soul to its function. I wore it for forty years. It did not hurt, not in the way a whip hurts, but it hummed against my...
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