The Faded River
The bellows of the printing press exhaled a rhythmic, metallic sigh, a sound that had become the metronome of Arthur’s existence in the last decade. It was a sound that stripped the air of its natural silence and replaced it with the heavy, damp weight of ink and iron. Arthur stood in the center of the vast, vaulted hall of the Royal Archive, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted the...
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