The Pale Meridian
Elara. The name was called out by the Headmaster, not with warmth, but with the clipped, bureaucratic finality of a stamp hitting paper. He stood in the doorway of the basement archive, his shadow falling across the damp stone floor, his face a mask of administrative displeasure. I did not look up from the ledger. The air in the room was thick with the scent of vinegar and old dust, a cold...
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