The Pale Banner
The letter lay on the desk, its seal broken, the ink still wet in the creases where I had folded it and unfolded it a dozen times that morning. I read the name again, my eyes tracing the loops of the signature that belonged to Magistrate Vane, a man who smelled of lavender and cold iron, and I felt the familiar hollow ache in my chest, the same one that had settled there three years ago when...
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