The Faded Road
The parchment lay on the workbench, its edges yellowed and brittle under the weight of a brass caliper. You read the terms twice, the ink blurring slightly in the dim, oil-stained light of the workshop. The debt to the Crown was substantial, three hundred marks, and the payment date was fixed to the winter solstice. Your hand trembled as you signed your name, the scratch of the quill sounding...
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