The Wistful Voyage
The quill scratches against the vellum, a dry, rasping sound that cuts through the silence of the scriptorium like a wire drawn across glass. Your fingers are stained black to the second knuckle, the ink seeping into the whorls of your fingerprints, a permanent map of your labor. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two, a junior archivist whose wages have not been raised in four years, and you are...
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