The Distant Legend
The ink in the pen was not merely black; it was a viscous, living thing that seemed to pull at the nib with a hunger Elias Thorne had only ever seen in the eyes of the starving men who lined up outside the Blackwood Ironworks gates for scraps of bread. He sat in the senior clerk’s office, the air thick with the smell of coal dust and old paper, and his hand trembled as he prepared to sign the...
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