The Pale Letter
The ink on the parchment was still wet when I read the order, a pale, sickly blue that seemed to bleed into the coarse paper, and it commanded me, Thomas Bradshaw, to stand guard at the Old Mill by the river, a place where the water ran black with the refuse of the tanners and the dye-works, and I held the letter in my trembling hands, my knuckles white, for I knew that Lord Vane’s power...
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