The Faded Road
The rain against the window of the library was a persistent, rhythmic tapping, a sound that had long since ceased to be merely weather and had become the pulse of my isolation. I sat at the desk in the corner, the one with the cracked leather cushion, and stared at the ink-stained page before me. It was a fragment of a letter, written in a hand so delicate it seemed to dissolve into the paper....
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