The Wistful Mirror
The ink on the ledger pages had begun to fade, a slow and terrifying erosion of the black lines that defined the men who had served under his command, their names dissolving into the cream-colored paper like smoke rising from a dying fire, and Silas Vance stood in the center of the vast, echoing archive, the air thick with the dust of a century, holding the book as if it were a living thing...
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