The Wistful Witness
The building stood in the mist. It was old. Stone. Grey. It had no roof. Just four walls. And a door. That was all. Elara was there. She was not human. Not quite. She was a keeper. A spirit of the archive. She wore a dress of dust. Her skin was pale. Like parchment. She did not eat. She did not sleep. She watched. The men came. They walked in. They were clerks. They wore coats. They carried...
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