The Pale Tale
The document lay on the scarred oak table, a single sheet of heavy, cream-colored paper bearing the imperial seal in the corner, its ink still wet enough to smell of iron and vinegar. Elias Thorne did not read it immediately; instead, he stared at the grain of the wood, where a deep gouge ran parallel to the edge, a scar from a knife fight three winters past that no amount of varnish had ever...
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