The Faded Frequency
The letter was written on heavy, cream-colored paper, the ink a faded violet that had bled slightly at the edges of the capital letters. It was a document from the past, a relic of a life that Marcus Thorne had spent thirty years trying to bury, now resting on the scarred wooden desk of his cottage in the remote highlands of northern England. Outside, the wind whipped across the moor, a low,...
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