The Faded Guest
The wax seal on the envelope was cold to the touch, a dull, bruised purple that seemed to pulse with a faint, subterranean heat against Arthur Vane’s thumb. He held it between his fingers, the paper brittle and yellowed, the ink faded to a ghostly grey, and felt the weight of the silence in the cramped clerk’s office where he sat. Outside, the November wind howled against the windowpanes of the...
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