The Pale Protocol
The seal was red, but the wax was already crumbling, shedding flakes like dried blood onto the oak table where Sir Aldous sat, his fingers tracing the edge of the parchment with a callus that had not felt the hilt of a sword in five years. It was a surrender order, issued by the Crown, demanding the immediate forfeiture of the Blackwood estate, a decree that arrived with the cold weight of a...
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