The Distant Legend
The crystal decanter in Elias Thorne’s hand was heavy, its stopper cold against his palm, a solid weight that grounded him in the swirling current of the departmental gala. The chandeliers above the Grand Hall at the Meridian Archive cast a light that was less illumination and more a suspended dust, catching the motes that drifted from the velvet drapes and the breath of three hundred...
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