The Wistful Petal
The ink on the page was not black, but a thick, arterial red that pulsed with a rhythm of its own. I held the Codex of Silence in my hands, the leather cover slick with sweat and the metallic tang of iron, while the library around me burned with a cold, blue fire that cast no shadows. I was Silas, a knight of the Order of the Pale Seal, and I had come to steal the one thing that could break the...
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