The Faded Chronicle
The nib of the fountain pen scraped against the vellum with a sound like a bone being filed, and Elias Thorne’s hand shook so violently that the ink bled into the fibers in a jagged, red-black vein. He was forty years old, and the palsy in his left hand had been diagnosed three winters ago, a condition he referred to only as the tremor, though the doctors used words like degeneration and...
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