The Wistful Letter
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, the paper yellowed and brittle as dried leaf, bearing the seal of the Thorne estate. Elias Thorne, a man whose hands were permanently stained with the grey dust of limestone, read the words of his father, the village elder, with a cold clarity that cut through the fog of his workshop. The demand was absolute: return to the ancestral quarry before the winter...
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