The Pale Letter
The mercury in the vial did not reflect the candlelight so much as it swallowed it, a pale, silvery tongue that tasted of cold iron and old blood even before Elias broke the seal. He sat on the damp stone floor of the Whitmore estate cellar, his back pressed against the rough-hewn wall where the mortar had long since crumbled, and crushed the glass between his palms until his fingers bled into...
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