The Pale Verdict
The parchment lay flat on the oak table, its edges curling slightly in the damp air of the tower. It was a list of names, written in a hand that trembled with age, and beneath them, a single line of ink that had not yet dried. Sir Aldric read it twice, the weight of the paper feeling heavier than its size warranted. He was forty years old, and for the first time, the stone floor beneath his...
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