The Wistful Letter
The letter lay on the workbench, unsealed, its wax broken like a dry riverbed. It was a heavy parchment, thick as a tongue, smelling faintly of beeswax and the damp earth of the cellar where it had been hidden for forty years. Elias Vane, the tanner of Oakhaven, did not open it. He knew what it said. He had written it himself, in a hand that trembled then with a fever that burned his eyes until...
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