The Golden Song
The quill scratched against the vellum, a dry, rasping sound that cut through the heavy silence of the High Archive. Elara’s left hand moved before her right, a ghostly premonition of the stroke to come, hovering a millimeter above the page with a delay so slight it was imperceptible to the untrained eye. She was thirty years old, though the weight of the parchment and the dust of the kingdom’s...
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