The Distant Journey

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2026-08-20 12:11:54 -

The ink on the quill is black, but the stain on your cuff is grey, a dull, lifeless residue that will not wash out, and you are standing in the center of the high vaulted chamber, the air thick with the scent of beeswax and old stone, while the Chancellor looks at you not with anger but with a terrifying, clinical curiosity, his fingers drumming a slow, wet rhythm on the mahogany desk that...

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