The Pale Letter
The letter lay on the obsidian table, its wax seal unbroken, the ink still wet with a dark, viscous sheen that smelled of iron and old rain. Captain Elias Thorne, forty-two years old and worn thin by the weight of his uniform, stared at the document until the words blurred, his eyes tracking the formal, cold script that detailed the final accounting of his sister Elara’s soul. The hall of the...
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