The Pale Altar
The Script on my forearm had turned black by noon. It pulsed like a second heartbeat, a living ink that mapped my office, my duty, and my doom onto the skin of my right arm. I was Elias Thorne, Senior Inquisitor of the Pale Court, and I wanted to burn Julian to save my daughter, Elara, from the wasting sickness. The Court demanded the heretic’s death, but the Script whispered in my blood that...
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