The Pale Letter
The letter lay on the desk, its edges yellowed and soft with age, the ink faded to a ghostly brown. I held the hygrometer against the oak beam, the needle trembling as it registered sixty-two percent relative humidity. The air in the library was heavy, thick with the scent of wet wool and old paper. My lungs tightened, a familiar ache settling in my chest, mirroring the dampness that seeped...
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