The Wistful Letter
The carriage wheels groaned against the loose shale, a rhythmic, grinding complaint that echoed the deep, subcutaneous ache in Margaret’s left knee, a joint that had betrayed her twice in the last decade and now threatened to betray her entirely. She sat rigid in the back of the hired coach, her posture a fortress of silence, watching the medieval forest strip away the sky in long, dark ribbons...
0 Comments 0 Shares 7 Views 0 Reviews