The Wistful Letter
The ink had not yet dried when the seal cracked, a sound like a knuckle popping in the silence of the study. It was not a loud sound, not in the way of thunder or the slamming of a heavy oak door, but it was sharp, a distinct break in the fabric of the air that made Elias flinch. He sat in the high-backed chair, the leather creaking under the weight of his stillness, and watched the black wax...
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