The Distant Summer
The seal was cracked. It had been cracked for three days, a jagged fissure running through the red wax like a frozen vein. Silas held the letter to the window. The parchment was brittle. The ink was dry. He did not read it. He knew the shape of the words before he saw them. They were the shape of his daughter’s name. They were the shape of the end. The tower was cold. It was a cold that lived...
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