The Faded Guest
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, bearing no return address and a stamp from a country that no longer existed. Elara Vance turned it over in her hands — the cream-colored envelope cool against her fingertips, the handwriting unmistakable even after twenty years. She knew that slant of letters, that deliberate cross of the t's, before she broke the seal. It had been three winters since she'd...
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