The Faded Frequency
The letter is written in ink that has dried to the color of a bruise, the script slanting and hurried as if the hand that held the quill was trembling not from cold, but from a sudden, violent awareness of its own fragility. You are writing this to the Council of the High Spire, the bodies of stone and silence that have watched over the valley for three centuries, and you are doing so because...
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