The Distant Promise
The ink was warm against my thumb, a viscous, living weight that smelled of copper and old rain. I pressed the nib into the ledger, trying to straighten the spine of the *Blackwood Estate Acquisition Log*, but the paper resisted, bending under the pressure like wet skin. I am Elias Thorne, and for the last three months, I have been trying to catalog the library of a house that does not wish to...
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