The Wistful Witness
The ivy had taken the chapel wall. I watched it curl and tighten, a green fist around the stone. It grew fast. Too fast. My father’s voice was in the mortar. "You must not let it spread," he said. "It chokes the light. It eats the truth." I am Elara. I am the Keeper. I am alone in the Archive. The Archive is not a library. It is a prison of paper. Rows and rows of shelves, high as the ceiling,...
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