The Pale Protocol

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2026-08-24 22:53:20 -

The Pale Protocol

11th of November. The frost has turned the cobblestones slick, and the wind off the river carries a bite that settles deep in the chest. I write this by the light of a tallow candle, the flame guttering as the draft finds the gap beneath the door. My hands are steady, or they appear to be, though I know they tremble when I set down the pen. Elara is sleeping, or pretending to, for her breathing...

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