The Distant Blade
The letter lay on the kitchen table, the paper brittle as dried skin, the ink faded to a rusty brown that matched the stain spreading across the cellar floor. You read it three times, your hands trembling not from the cold, though the house was freezing, but from the sheer weight of the words that accused you of treason. It was a bill, of sorts, sent by the Ministry of Internal Affairs,...
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