The Pale Verdict
The quill scrapes against the parchment, a dry, rasping sound that cuts through the heavy silence of the cell, and your hand trembles so violently that the ink bleeds into the fibers, creating a dark, spreading blot where the word *envoy* should be. You are Elias, a scribe of forty years, and you are writing the confession that will hang you at dawn, though the only thing you truly want, the...
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