The Pale Shadows
The inkwell sat in your left hand, heavy as a stone, the iron cold biting into your palm. You held it up, testing its weight against the glass of the library window, the black liquid sloshing with a dull, viscous sound that seemed to drown out the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Outside, the winter light was failing, turning the snow on the grounds of Blackwood Hall into a sheet...
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