The Faded Sutra
The ledger lay open on the mahogany desk, its pages yellowed and stiff with the weight of thirty years of ink, and I, Arthur Vane, senior auditor of the Imperial Textile Bureau, found my pen trembling as I attempted to certify the final entry of the deceased Master Halloway. The light in the office was failing, the afternoon sun cutting a thin, dusty blade across the floorboards, illuminating...
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