The Faded Sutra
The gaslight in the study sputters, casting long, trembling shadows across the mahogany table where twelve guests sit in stiff, polite silence, their cutlery clinking against porcelain with a sound like bone breaking, as you, Elias, raise your glass of claret in a toast to your promotion, the liquid dark and viscous in the dim light, mirroring the ink that has begun to bleed from the spines of...
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