The Distant Journey
The letter lay on the workbench, its edges curling slightly in the dry air, the ink still wet enough to catch the light of the single oil lamp. I read the name at the top, Lord Vane, Steward of the Royal Household, and felt the familiar, cold weight of bureaucracy settle in my chest before I even unfolded the paper. It was a rejection, of course, but not the polite kind; it was a dismissal...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews