The Wistful Letter
The letter lay on the mahogany table, its seal unbroken, the paper thick and yellowed with age. Captain Elias Thorne held it in his left hand, the wax crisp under his thumb, while his right hand gripped the edge of the table to steady his breathing. He was thirty-two, a man who had spent fifteen years in the service of the Crown, and tonight he presided over the banquet at Blackwood Manor. The...
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