The Pale Letter
The ink is dry. You know this. You have checked the seal three times. The wax is cracked, a hairline fracture running from the center to the edge, like a vein in pale marble. It is a flaw. A fatal one. You tell yourself it does not matter. The letter is sealed. The destination is fixed. The courier is waiting. Your name is Elias Thorne. You are a man of letters, or so you claim. In reality, you...
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