The Faded Alibi
The parchment was heavy in Elias Vane’s hands, not with ink, but with the damp weight of the Blackwood’s perpetual mist, a substance that clung to the skin like cold grease and seemed to possess a density that defied the air around it. He held it before his eyes, the sealed letter of absolution from Bishop Aldric still wrapped in its oilskin casing, and waited for the fog to recede so he could...
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