The Wistful Voyage
You are standing in the rain. It is a cold, flat drizzle that soaks through your coat and settles into the marrow of your bones. The town of Oakhaven is gray. The houses are gray. The people walking past with their heads bowed are gray. You hold the ledger in your hand. It is a thick, bound book. The leather cover is cracked. The spine is fraying. You have held this book for forty years. It is...
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