The Distant Legend
The cold in the library does not bite; it seeps. It moves through the stone floors and up through the soles of your boots, settling into the marrow of your shins with a slow, patient insistence that feels less like weather and more like a judgment. You are sitting at the far end of the reading room, a place where the dust motes hang suspended in the shafts of grey afternoon light, drifting like...
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