The Distant Whispers
The letter lay on the table, its seal broken, the ink of the council’s rejection already dry and black as a bruise. Elias Thorne read it twice, the paper trembling slightly in his hands, not from cold but from the sudden, heavy silence that had fallen over the manor. The words were blunt: the manuscript of his late father, Arthur Thorne, was deemed the ramblings of a mind fractured by grief,...
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