The Wistful Crossroads
The scribe’s quill snapped against the parchment, the sound sharp and brittle in the silence of the study, and Elias looked up to find his father standing in the doorway, though the man was already becoming a sketch of himself, his edges softening into the gray air that filled the room. "Finish it, Elias," the voice came, not from the lips but from the center of the chest, a vibration that felt...
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