The Distant Wound
The dampness in the State Archive of the Dominion was not merely a matter of weather seeping through the limestone walls but a physical presence, a thick, grey breath that settled into the marrow of one’s bones and clung to the skin like a second, heavier garment, and I, Elias Thorne, stood in the shadow of the Great Stacks, my hand wrapped around the rough, twisted bark of a withered oak...
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