The Faded Bouquet
The candlelight in the Archives of St. Jude did not so much illuminate the room as it accused it, casting long, skeletal shadows against the damp stone walls where the air hung thick with the scent of mildew and old vellum. Elias Thorne, the Inquisitor whose hands still trembled with the phantom weight of the border wars, stood before the iron-bound shelf that held the final testament of his...
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