The Faded Quadrant

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2026-08-18 04:45:56 -

The letter lay on the table. It was a slip of paper. Brown. Crumpled. Margaret held it in her hand. Her fingers were cold. The ink was faded. A single line. A command. She looked at the door. The wood was old. Dark. It had seen many winters. She was not afraid. She was tired. The village slept. The mist rolled in from the river. It touched the cobblestones. It soaked into the walls of her...

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