The Pale Door
The gilded gates of the Imperial Court groaned under the weight of the autumn wind, a sound like a bone snapping in a quiet room. I stood before them, thirty-two years old, my hands trembling around the shattered seal of my late father. The brass was cold, jagged, a fragment of authority that had once commanded respect and now commanded only pity. I wanted the title. I wanted the debt paid. I...
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