The Distant Promise

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2026-08-22 16:04:04 -

Your fingers are black with ink, the stains biting into the whorls of your skin as you press the quill to the parchment, the point trembling not from cold but from the sheer, vibrating weight of the sound filling the room. It is the hour when the gas lamps in the Blackwood Institute flicker and die, leaving only the pale, sickly glow of the moon cutting through the high, barred windows, and in...

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