The Wistful Witness
The glass vial is cold against your palm, a small, trembling universe held within your fingers, and inside it the iridescent beetle shifts its weight, its shell catching the dim light of the scriptorium in flashes of oil-slick green and bruised purple. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, and you are currently the only scribe in Oakhaven who has not yet been hanged, a fact that feels...
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