The Distant Whispers
The flame licked the edge of the vellum, curling the corner into ash. I held the book steady, my knuckles white, watching the fire consume the first page of the Codex of Whispers. The heat was a physical weight against my palms, a dry, biting pain that promised to blister the skin. I had spent twenty years as the Royal Scrivener, binding the court’s madness into parchment, but tonight I was to...
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