The Faded Quadrant
The ink was still wet on the vellum when I heard the first note, a low, thrumming hum that seemed to rise from the spine of the ledger rather than the air. I pressed my thumb against the page to stop the nib from dragging, the parchment rough and fibrous under my skin, and looked up at the stained glass of the High Court, where the afternoon light was filtering through in shards of dull amber...
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