The Wistful Letter
The ink is already moving before I have finished the first sentence, a dark, viscous bead swelling on the tip of the quill and sliding down the shaft to pool at my knuckles, cold and wet against the skin of my wrist. I am Elara, thirty-two years old, and I am the senior scribe of the Obsidian Court, a position I have clawed my way to through a decade of silent, meticulous labor in the shadows...
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