The Wistful Letter
The candlelight in the archive room trembles against the high, vaulted ceilings, casting long, wavering shadows that seem to stretch and contract in time with the erratic, painful thumping of your own heart. You are Silas, fifty years old, a warden of the city’s historical records, and your body feels less like a vessel of flesh and bone and more like a cracked bellows struggling to pull air...
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