The Wistful Letter

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2026-08-21 09:17:57 -

The ink was black. Not blue. Not brown. Black. Like the void. Like the grave. Like the eyes of the men who watched from the shadows. Mara held the letter. It was cold. It was damp. It smelled of ozone and rot. She stood in the town square. The rain fell. It hissed against the cobblestones. The town of Oakhaven. A place of stone and silence. A place where truth was a weapon. And lies were the...

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