The Distant Legend
The ink was wet again. Elias Thorne stared at the ledger, his breath shallow in the cold archive of the Blackwood Textile Mill. It was November 1912, and the frost had already claimed the windows, but the dampness inside the building felt like a living thing, pressing against his skin. He had been the archivist for twenty years, a quiet man who cataloged the company’s debts and assets, but the...
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