The Wistful Saga
The hammer fell. Again. And again. I worked the iron. The forge glowed. Heat rose. Sweat stung. My back ached. It was a good day. The metal sang. Thomas stood by the door. He watched. His face was pale. He held a letter. The seal was broken. Wax on his thumb. Red. Like blood. “Edward,” he said. I did not stop. I struck. The anvil rang. “Edward, look at me.” I wiped my brow. The towel was black....
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