The Golden Song
The ink had been bleeding for three days, a slow, dark weep that turned the crisp white paper of the Grand Meridian Palace’s central ledger into a bruised, damp sponge. Elias Thorne counted the seconds between each drop, a rhythmic tick-tock that matched the heavy, industrial thrum of the heating pipes below the floorboards, a sound that had become the only constant in his life since Clara had...
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