The Wistful Cipher
The silver locket, a delicate artifact of the old world, hung from the neck of young Silas Vane like a pendulum marking the erratic rhythm of a heart that had forgotten how to beat in time with the rest of the household, its surface tarnished by the heavy, damp air of the ancestral home where time did not pass but accumulated, layer upon layer, like the dust on the high shelves of the library...
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