The Faded Frequency
The letter lay on the frost-rimed table, its edges curling inward like a dying leaf, the ink smudged where a tear had fallen. Elias Thorne picked it up, his fingers numb not just from the cold but from the hollow ache in his gut, a hunger that had settled into his bones three weeks ago. It was from his wife, Margaret, dated four days prior, though the postmark suggested it had traveled for a...
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