The Faded Chronicle
The mill clock struck seven, a sound like a hammer striking iron, and Arthur Vane counted the hours on his fingers. One, two, three. He was thirty years old, a clerk with ink under his nails and a hollow space in his chest where a future used to be. He wanted the ledger position. He wanted it with a ferocity that frightened him, a desire that felt less like ambition and more like a hunger for...
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