The Pale Echo
The ink in Elias Thorne’s pen was black, but the seal on the document was a pale, bruised violet that seemed to pulse against the cream of the parchment. He held his breath, the air in the City Records Office thick with the smell of sulfur and old dust, and watched as the mark bloomed across the corner of the disputed will. It was a lie, or rather, the physical evidence of one, for the seal...
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