The Pale Letter
The quill scratches against the parchment, a sound like a fingernail dragging down a chalkboard, and the ink, black as a bruise, spreads with a wet, hungry speed that has nothing to do with the humidity in the room. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a scribe of no particular renown in the ancient, fog-choked city of Oakhaven, and you are desperate. Your son, Thomas, is seventeen and in...
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