The Distant Nightmare
The bell rang. Not the soft chime of a shop, but a deep, iron-throated groan that shook dust from the rafters of the counting house. Silas Vane did not look up from the ledger. His quill scratched. The ink bled black into the vellum. The door creaked. It was always creaking. The hinges were rusted, or perhaps something else had eaten them. "Silas." He knew the voice. It was his brother, Thomas....
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