The Pale Circus
The hall was a cavern of dust and low, resonant hums, a place where the air tasted of stale varnish and the particular, metallic dryness of old books left too long in the sun. Professor Elias Thorne stood at the center of the circular reading room, his fingers tracing the spine of a codex that had not been opened in three centuries. He was a man of severe architecture, his shoulders narrow and...
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