The Pale Tower
The ledger in the Ministry of Antiquities was not merely old; it was a living thing that bled ink when lies were spoken nearby, a fact that Madeleine Duval, thirty-two, knew with the certainty of a woman who had paid her rent to the temple granary for a decade. She sat in the longhouse, the sleet hammering against the high windows, and watched the black stain spread across the parchment as...
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