The Golden Song
The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed a steady, dull rhythm against the high windows of the Ashworth Estate, a sound that Elias had come to associate with the smell of damp wool and old paper. He was thirty-two, a junior archivist with ink-stained fingers and a quiet ambition that felt increasingly suffocating in the dusty corridors of the library. He wanted the promotion. He...
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