The Distant Nightmare

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2026-08-22 20:02:08 -

The ink is cold, Elias, and it will not dry. You stare at the quill, the tip trembling not from the draft but from the hollow space where the silver clasp used to sit against your collarbone, a phantom weight that makes your neck ache with every turn of your head. Mara is gone to the market, leaving you alone in the scriptorium with the smell of damp wool and stale parchment, a scent that has...

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