The Faded Road
The winter of 1924 bit into the bones of the Vane house, a cold so sharp it felt less like weather and more like a verdict. Elias Vane stood in the center of the drafty parlor, the old oak sword wrapped in oilcloth in his hands, its weight a familiar, heavy anchor against his chest. He was thirty years old, though the war had aged him into something brittle and hollow. Outside, the wind...
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