The Pale Mist
Bavaria in the early third year of the Principate was a land of stone and silence, where the alpine farms clung to the slopes like barnacles on a ship’s hull. The air was thin, carrying the scent of wet wool and the sharp, metallic tang of the quarry lake, which sat unnaturally blue beneath the grey sky. In the storeroom of the High Court, a place that smelled of mildew and confiscated grain,...
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