The Pale Garden
The ink on the parchment was still wet, bleeding into the fibers like a bruise spreading under skin, and Elias Thorne’s hand trembled as he pressed the quill against the page, the weight of the nib heavy and cold against his finger. He was not writing a confession; he was recording the facts of the disappearance of Thomas Bradshaw, his junior inquisitor, whose ledger held the proof of the...
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