The Pale Tale
The ledger on my desk was red ink and shame, a stain that no amount of scrubbing could lift, and I watched the morning light fail to reach the bottom of the page. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-four, a border warden for Blackwood Hall, a title that sounds grander than the reality of checking fences and counting sheep in a house that smells of damp wool and old paper. My job is to secure the...
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