The Pale Tale
The paper was cold to the touch, colder than the stone floor beneath Elias’s feet. He held it by the corner, as if the ink might transfer to his skin and start a burn. The entry was fresh, the letters still wet and glistening in the dim light of the archive room. It read: *Elias Thorne, Clerk of the Third Division. Dismissal effective at dawn. Reason: Accumulated deficit of spirit.* Elias...
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