The Pale Door
The magistrate’s voice cracked like dry kindling as he shouted the name down into the cellar, the words bouncing off the damp stone walls until they waslong to the rats skittering in the corners. "Aldric Vane, you are under arrest for spiritual theft." It was a bureaucratic error, a misreading of a royal writ that the clerk had mistaken for a claim of divine authority, but the chain of...
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