The Wistful Skyline

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2026-08-23 23:35:47 -

The ink was black, but it moved like oil, pooling in the well of the parchment with a viscosity that defied the cold air of the scriptorium. I dipped the quill, the feather slick and heavy, and touched the tip to the vellum, where the first name of the Duke’s list waited in the margin. "Thomas," Elara said, her voice low, cutting through the hiss of the tallow candles that lined the oak...

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