The Wistful Letter
The banquet in the Great Hall of Blackwood Manor was a cacophony of silver clinking and forced laughter, a grotesque mask for the silence that hummed within the stone walls. Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old and stripped of his former dignity, stood at the head of the long oak table, his eyes darting between the twelve guests who had traveled from the lowlands to witness his return. He wanted...
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