The Wistful Mirror
The ink on the bill was still wet, the black strokes bleeding slightly into the coarse parchment as Elias Thorne held it up to the grey light filtering through the mill window. It was a demand from Magistrate Halloway for forty silver crowns, a debt Elias had incurred for timber and labor on a house that never stood. He folded the paper with a care that belied his anger, sliding it into his...
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