The Distant Blade
The ink on the letter was still wet when the doorbell rang, a sharp, intrusive crack in the stillness of the study. Elias Thorne did not move. His hands, stained with the indigo of the archival dye he used to preserve the county’s oldest records, remained suspended over the parchment. He was the Keeper of the Archives, a title that carried the weight of centuries and the lightness of being...
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