The Pale Tale
The dream was always the same. A white stag, bleating, its antlers slick with blood, sinking into the black mud of a forest that smelled of rot and iron. Elias Thorne woke with the taste of copper in his mouth, the sheets twisted around his legs like roots. He was thirty-two, a junior clerk in the provincial tax office, and the dream had begun the week he found the first discrepancy in Silas...
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