The Wistful Letter

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2026-08-19 20:12:01 -

The letter was sealed with black wax. It sat on the table. The wood was old. The air was thick. Margaret did not open it. She watched the seal. It was a raven. Her own face. She was not a woman. Not anymore. Or perhaps she had never been one. The village called her the Weaver. They did not say her name. Names were for the living. For those who paid taxes. Who went to church on Sundays. Who died...

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