The Faded Sutra
The chandelier above the long oak table was not glass, but a lattice of spun gold and dried lavender, a relic from the previous century that had somehow survived the fires, the floods, and the slow erosion of the House of Alden. Elias stood in the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back, feeling the weight of the silence pressing against his eardrums. He was the Senior Archivist,...
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