The Golden Echoes
The letter lay on the mahogany desk, its seal unbroken but its weight familiar, a dense, physical thing that seemed to suck the air from the small, dim study. You looked at it, your fingers hovering over the parchment, the ink already dry and faded into a brownish gray, as if the words had been written not weeks ago but years, perhaps a lifetime. Outside, the city of London roared with the...
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