The Pale Letter
The ink on the parchment was dry, but the cold seeped into Elias’s fingers like a living thing, a chill that did not come from the air of the scriptorium but from the paper itself, a pale, translucent sheet that seemed to breathe with a faint, rhythmic pulse. He had found it tucked behind a ledger of grain tithes in the Duke’s private archive, a place he had only entered because his brother,...
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