The Pale Protocol
"Stop it. You’re bleeding on the ledger." Julian’s voice is sharp, clipped by the wind that whips through the broken windowpane of the study. I look down. The ink is mixed with red. It is my blood. It is Martha’s blood. I have drunk it, and the moss is growing. My dear Martha, I write this by the light of the tallow candle, though the room is already dimming. The smell of the house has changed....
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