The Distant Nightmare
The ink is still wet on the ledger, a dark vein pulsing against the cream of the parchment, and you watch it seep into the fibers as if it were blood escaping a wound that will never close. You are the Royal Engraver, the keeper of the state’s seal, and your hands, which have carved the faces of kings into gold and the dates of treaties into stone, are trembling with a fine, rhythmic shake that...
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