The Wistful Letter
Your fingers are already deep in the vellum, the leather of the Codex Umbra cracking under the pressure of your thumbs, a sound like a knuckle popping in a silent room. The archive smells of damp wool and the metallic tang of old ink, a scent that has seeped into the pores of your skin over forty-two years of service here at Kasteel van Zwart. You are Femmigje Visser, a philologist whose tenure...
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