The Distant Legend
"The ink is moving again, isn't it?" Elias Thorne did not look up. He held the parchment with a pair of bone tweezers, his fingers trembling so violently that the tip of the needle slipped off the vellum. It clattered against the stone floor, a small, sharp sound that echoed in the damp silence of the archive. He was forty-two years old, and his hands shook like leaves in a gale. The candle...
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