The Wistful Letter
The rain had ceased to fall, replaced by a silence so heavy it felt like a physical weight pressing against the glass of your carriage. You sat in the corner, your back rigid against the velvet, watching the mist swirl through the window with the detachment of a man who has forgotten that he possesses a body. You are not a traveler by choice. You are a soldier of the Crown, a man of the law,...
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