The Pale Bridge
The ink on your quill is not black, but a deep, arterial crimson, and it smells of iron and old fear. You are Elara, a scribe in the High Court of Aethelgard, and you have three days until the winter solstice to complete the Royal Codex. If you fail, your master, the aging Duke of Vane, will be executed for treason, a charge that feels hollow even as you grind the pigment from the bones of the...
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