The Pale Verdict
The ink in the quill was still wet when the first flake of ash landed on the parchment, a white speck against the black script of the indictment. I did not look up. I had seen the Pale Verdict twenty times in twenty years, always on the innocent, never on the guilty, and I had always swept it into the dustpan with the same quiet efficiency as a man clearing crumbs from a table. My name is...
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