The Wistful Saga
The hum began as a vibration in the floorboards, a low-frequency thrum that Elias felt in his molars before he heard it in his ears. It was a Tuesday, and the archive was empty save for the dust motes dancing in the slant of afternoon light, but Elias knew the sound meant someone was ignoring him. He adjusted his glasses, the lenses clouded with the grime of twenty years, and turned back to the...
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