The Wistful Letter
The seal broke. I watched the wax shatter. It did not crack. It exploded. A spiderweb of red fragments. Like a bruise opening. Like skin splitting. The letter was there. White paper. Thin as ice. I did not read it. Not yet. I held it in my hand. The ink bled. I am a scribe in the Abbey of St. Jude. We do not pray here. We write. The walls are stone. The air is cold. The silence is loud. The...
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