The Pale Door
The morning began with the weight of the ledger, a heavy, leather-bound tome that Elara Vane counted by the hour, each page turn a small, dry exhalation in the cold air of the Imperial Textile Ministry’s archive. It was November, 1893, and the building groaned with the settling of iron girders and the distant, rhythmic clatter of the looms in the production floor below, a sound that had long...
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