The Faded River
The letter lay on the workbench, its edges curled like dried leaves, the ink still wet with a blackness that seemed to pull the light from the room. It was not a demand for payment, nor a notice of tax, but a simple, terrifying inventory of what remained in the valley of Oakhaven, signed by the hand of Lord Vane. Elias Thorne, a dyer of forty-two years whose hands were permanently stained with...
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