The Wistful Mirror
Chapter One Ink has weight, a fact I learned before I learned to read. It sits in the belly of the brush like a stone, pulling the hand down, demanding effort for every stroke. I am Himari Matsumoto, and for thirty years I have carried this weight in the imperial archive, a place where silence is the only currency that does not devalue. The air in the shitamachi district is heavy with wet clay...
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