The Pale Verdict
The banquet in the magistrate’s hall was a spectacle of silver and silence, the kind of suffocating elegance that you had curated to mask the rot beneath your own skin, for the town of Oakhaven was a place where the dead did not stay buried but sat at the periphery of every room, whispering through the cracks in the plaster and the gaps in the logic of the living. You stood at the head of the...
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