The Wistful Saga
The ink on the parchment was still wet, the black of it a void that seemed to drink the candlelight, as Elias Vane signed his name for the last time, the scratch of the quill against the skin of the page sounding like a bone snapping in the silence of the Duke’s private study. He had spent forty years bending brass and tempering steel, his fingers once steady as a surgeon’s, now trembling with...
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