The Distant Whispers
The iron gates of the Athenaeum did not creak when they opened, for they were oiled by hands that had long since turned to dust, and the silence that greeted Aldric Thorne was so heavy, so absolute, that it seemed to press against his eardrums like deep water, forcing the air from his lungs in a slow, rhythmic exhalation that echoed with the hollow resonance of a bell struck in an empty church....
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