The Pale Shadows
The ink in my well had turned the color of old blood, a thick, viscous sludge that refused to flow, and I knew then that the night had begun its true work. I am Elias Thorne, a scribe of the High Court, and I sit in the shadow of the Aethelgard spire, my fingers stained black up to the knuckles, copying the Royal Ledger for the forty-seventh time. I do this not for glory, nor for the pittance...
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