The Pale Banner
The needle slipped through the hem of the pale silk, pulling the thread tight with a sound like a dry bone cracking, and Elias Thorne did not look up, his eyes fixed on the fraying edge of his sister’s dress as if he could stitch the years back into place by sheer force of will. It was a foolish thing to do, repairing a garment that had not been worn in six years, yet the needlework was the...
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