The Pale Letter
The parchment arrived not by post, nor by hand, but seemingly unspooled from the very dust motes dancing in the stagnant air of my office, a sheet of vellum so pale it seemed to bleed light into the shadows of the room where I sat, the Senior Clerk of the Department of Antiquities and Unclaimed Assets, a man whose life was measured in the weight of ink and the silence of empty ledgers. I...
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