The Wistful Letter
Act I Luigi Esposito remembered the silence of the archive not as an absence of sound, but as a heavy, wet pressure against his eardrums. He stood in the vault, the air heavy with rotting vellum and the metallic tang of old blood, holding a letter that had not been opened in three years. The dust in the room was not dust; it was a fine, grey powder that moved with a slow, deliberate...
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