The Pale Shadows
The ink did not take. Elias Thorne pressed the nib harder against the vellum, the point digging into the skin of the page, yet the black liquid refused to settle, instead pooling in a viscous, pale ring that smelled of wet ash and old blood. He was forty years old, a scholar of the marginalia at the University of Aethelgard, and he had spent three weeks in this mist-choked valley seeking the...
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