The Faded Photograph
The ledger had four hundred and twelve pages, and Elara Vane had counted them twice in the grey light of the winter morning. She counted them again, her fingers tracing the rough, fibrous edges of the paper, feeling the slight give of the spine where the binding had begun to loosen. Thirty-two years old, and she felt the weight of the years in the marrow of her bones, a heaviness that had...
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