The Wistful Letter

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2026-08-20 04:45:45 -

The ink on the parchment had dried into a bruise, a purple-black scab upon the white skin of the vellum, and I held it in my hands as if it were a living thing that might still breathe, its edges curling slightly like the lips of a dying mouth, and I could feel the weight of the words inside it pressing against the paper, a heavy, wet silence that threatened to burst, for in the village of...

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