The Wistful Letter
The brass bell above the door of the Halloway & Sons Archive rings, a sound like a dying chime that shatters the heavy, dust-choked silence of the reading room, and you stand up from your desk, the leather creaking under the weight of your stillness. It is mid-October, and the light filtering through the high, arched windows is the color of bruised plums, casting long, sharp shadows that...
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