The Pale Letter

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2026-08-24 14:06:02 -

The Pale Letter

The ink was black, but the letter was pale. I held the quill in my right hand, the one that still trembled, and stared at the parchment. It was 1342. I was forty years old, a scribe to Duke Aldric, and I had not seen my wife Elara in six days. The plague had moved into the lower quarters of the castle, a creeping rot that the physicians called "the sweating sickness" but the servants called...

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