The Distant Affair
The ink did not dry; it bled, a slow, arterial seep that mapped the topography of the parchment in a way that the human eye, unaided and untrained, could never have perceived, a phenomenon that Margaret Holloway had spent the better part of four decades mastering within the sterile, fluorescent-lit corridors of the Department of Anomalous Archival Restoration, a place that existed on no...
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