The Pale Circus
The refusal was not a shout, but a paper clip sliding across a table of polished oak, the sound sharp as a bone breaking. "Jurisdictional error," the adjutant said, not looking up from his ledger. "The Warden’s court does not handle civil grievances from the borderlands. You are out of your province, Miss Elara. Please remove your boots; the mud is tracking into the administrative wing." I did...
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