The Wistful Letter
The petition was denied. Those were the first words Chancellor Vane spoke, his voice as dry and brittle as the parchment he did not even bother to unfold. You stood in the center of the High Court, the room humming with the low, electric tension of a storm held in check by the sheer weight of the stone ceiling above. The air was thick, stale with the scent of old ink and the damp rot of the...
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