The Distant Journey
The letter sat on the kitchen table. It was thick. It was final. It bore the seal of the Magistrate’s office. It was black wax. It was cold to the touch. Eleanor stared at it. She did not open it. She knew what it said. She had known for weeks. The town knew. The wind carried the whispers through the larch trees. The wind carried the judgment before the ink was dry. She was to be removed. Her...
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