The Distant Affair
The bell in the corridor does not ring for a man, but for a thing. It is a sharp, brassy cry that shatters the silence of the archive room, a sound that feels less like a summons and more like an accusation. You are standing before the oak desk of the Head Archivist, your fingers stained with the particular grey dust of centuries, your spine curved from years of hunching over brittle vellum....
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