The Faded Dust
The dust did not settle; it hovered, a suspended galaxy of grey motes that caught the candlelight and threw it back in distorted, fractured shards. Elara Vane, thirty-two and the senior archivist of St. Jude’s Monastery, watched the particles drift around her hand as she lifted the jar from its velvet-lined box. She wanted the position. She wanted the security of the title that would keep her...
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