The Faded Chronicle
The parchment lay on the oak desk, weighted down by a smooth river stone I had carried from the creek bed three days prior. It was a heavy stone, cold and dense, and it served to keep the corner of the Chronicle from curling in the dry air of the scriptorium. I looked at the date scrawled in the margin: December 1st. The solstice was nine days away, and the final chapter remained a blank...
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