The Pale Protocol

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2026-08-24 14:08:20 -

The Pale Protocol

14th of March, 1842. The carriage rocks. My hands are shaking, but I have wrapped them in my gloves so no one sees. We are three hours from London. The sky is the color of dirty wool. I am going to the Imperial Court to beg for my father’s life. He is a physician, once respected, now disgraced. He treated the wrong patient, or so the Chancellor says. The man who holds the power to save him is...

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