The Distant Affair
The ledger was open on the desk, its spine cracked and brittle, and the dampness of the library seeped into Elara’s fingers as she turned the page. She had been an archivist at the Whitmore Estate for twelve years, long enough to know that the plaster walls did not merely hold the building together; they held the silence. It was a strange, localized thing, a damp cold that seemed to rise from...
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