The Wistful Saga
The seal of the Archivist’s office is a heavy thing, a slab of black wax that smells of tallow and old ambition, and it is this very object that hangs in your mind as a phantom limb, a weight you can feel but no longer hold, for you are no longer the scribe of the Grand Archive, Elias Thorne, but a suspect, a man whose ink is suspect and whose breath is watched. You sit in the damp cellar...
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