The Faded Root
The pen is a stick of black plastic, cold and slick in your right hand, and it is the heaviest object in the room. You are Elias Thorne, sixty-four years old, a man who spent forty years dissecting the syntax of dead languages, and you are currently unable to hold a pen steady enough to write your own name. The light in the study is the pale, bruised grey of a Tuesday morning in November, the...
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