The Silent Dinner
The rain in London did not fall; it lingered, a grey shroud that clung to the soot-stained bricks of Bloomsbury. Clara lived in the gaps between the pages of the books she restored. Her world was one of vellum, gold leaf, and the scent of ancient dust—a sanctuary where the dead were more predictable than the living. She had always been a ghost in her own life, until the night the shadow...
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