The Pale Letter
The dream is always the same, a jagged fracture of silvered glass expanding across the dark of your eyelids until the shards fall, cold and silent, onto the floorboards of your mind, and you wake with the taste of copper in your mouth and the sound of rain lashing the windowpane of the garrison office where you have not slept but merely waited for the dawn to bring the inevitable. You are Elias...
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