The Golden Compass
The dust in the basement of Vane Hall settles like grey snow, coating the spines of the ledgers you are forced to refile, a task so menial it feels less like work and more like a slow burial. You are thirty-two, Elara, and for the past four years you have served as the junior archivist to Lord Vane, a position you secured not through inheritance or marriage, but through a quiet, persistent...
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