The Pale Exile
"You'll have to sign here, and here, before the ink dries on the final clause." Yoshiko Nakamura looked up from the parchment, the smell of the wet snow outside the windowless infirmary mixing with the stale, medicinal scent of the room. She was thirty-two, a scribe for the Nakamura family, and her hands were steady despite the tremor that had plagued her since the dawn shift. The man across...
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