The Pale Meridian
The winter of 1904 had settled into the bones of the Thorne house like a damp rot, a pervasive chill that Elias Thorne felt not in his skin but in the very marrow of his scientific instruments, where the mercury in the thermometers seemed to shiver with a dread that no external weather could account for. He sat in his drafty study, a room that had once been a sanctuary of ordered thought and...
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