The Pale Verdict
The ledger of my sins was not written in ink, but in the rusted iron bars that separated my cell from the world beyond, a boundary I had spent the last decade seeking to breach not for freedom, but for the proximity of the man who had condemned me. I was Margaret Ashworth, and I had spent my life chasing the pale line of light that fell through the high, narrow window of my chamber, a sliver of...
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