The Pale Letter
The brass inkwell sat cold and heavy in Elara Vance’s palm, its surface etched with the Halloway crest, a serpent coiling around a spool of thread, a design that had once represented stability but now felt like a weight pressing into the flesh of her hand. Around her, the Great Hall of the Halloway Textile Mill was a furnace of noise and heat, the air thick with the scent of roasted meat, stale...
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