The Distant Threshold
The requisition form for the Vane Palace’s lower archives was damp at the edges, the ink of your signature blurring into a grey smear that looked less like a name and more like a bruise. You held the paper up to the flickering gaslight, checking the serial number of the key you had just surrendered to the Clerk of the Threshold, a man whose eyes never left the ledger in front of him. The static...
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