The Faded Frequency
The letter sat on the desk, its edges softening like bread left too long in the sun, waiting for the hand that would break it. It was written in ink that had begun to bleed into the parchment, a brownish haze that threatened to swallow the words whole. Eleanor held it with a reverence usually reserved for sacred relics, her fingers trembling not from cold, but from the sheer weight of the...
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