The Faded Guest
The final page of the chronicle lay open on the oak desk, its surface a pale, trembling expanse of vellum that seemed to suck the light from the room rather than reflect it. Elias Thorne sat hunched over the parchment, his fingers stained black to the knuckles with iron-gall ink, the cold of the stone floor seeping through the legs of his trousers and settling into his bones with a damp,...
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