The Faded Guest
The ink was bleeding out, and I had counted the drops falling from the quill: four, five, six. Each one struck the parchment of the *Codex Aeterna* with a wet, heavy thud that seemed too loud for the silence of the stone library. I was forty years old, an archivist by trade and by necessity, and I wanted only to transcribe the final, corrupted page before the script vanished entirely. It was a...
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