The Distant Journey
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a thick, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the city into a watercolor smear of slate and iron. Clara sat at her desk in the basement of the Municipal Archives, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead with a frequency that seemed to vibrate directly in her teeth, and she stared at the ledger before her, the pages warped and slick with a...
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