The Wistful Grid
The letter lay on the desk. It was dated three days prior. Elias did not open it. He knew the contents. He knew the seal. The ink was red. The paper was thin. He watched the dust motes dance in the beam of light. The light was cold. The room was cold. Elias was a man of few words. He worked in the cellar. The cellar smelled of damp earth and old iron. He worked for the Guild. The Guild kept the...
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