The Faded Frontier
The rain did not fall so much as it settled, a persistent gray mist that clung to the walls of the archive and seeped into the joints of my bones. I had lived in this damp, stone-fortified library for thirty years, my life measured not in days but in the accumulation of dust and the slow decay of leather bindings. I was the keeper of the Whitmore Collection, a role that had slowly calcified...
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