The Faded Alibi
The ink had dried for seven hours, a brittle, black crust on the tip of the quill, yet you had not set it down. You were counting the seconds, or perhaps the years, it was difficult to tell when time in the Grand Library stretched like taffy under the weight of dust and silence. You were Elara, thirty-two, and you had served the institution for nineteen years, a duration that should have...
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