The Wistful Voyage
The rain tapped against the windowpane with the rhythmic persistence of a metronome, a mechanical heartbeat that seemed to synchronize with the throbbing in Elias’s temples. He sat in his study, a room that smelled of dust and old paper, his fingers hovering over a velvet-lined box on the desk. Inside lay the scarf. It was a thing of impossible weight, woven from a thread that shimmered not...
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