The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-17 18:16:41 -

The air in the scriptorium smelled of iron gall ink and the slow, sweet rot of damp parchment, a scent that had long ago become the very texture of my thoughts, so that I could no longer distinguish the smell of the library from the smell of my own skin. I stood before the desk of Master Aldric, the Head Archivist, my hands trembling not from the chill of the vault but from the sheer, crushing...

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