The Pale Tale
The cold bit into your bones before the bell did. You stood at the edge of the courtyard, the mist clinging to the damp flagstones like a shroud, watching the palace gates close behind you. Three years. That was how long Mara had been wasting away in the tower, her breath a thin, reedy thing that seemed to pull the warmth from the room. You were Elias, the Royal Alchemist, forty-two years old...
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