The Distant Affair
The parchment lay flat on the oak table, the ink still wet and smelling of iron and vinegar, a list of debts that felt heavier than the chain mail Elias wore beneath his tunic. He signed his name with a hand that trembled only slightly, the quill scratching against the rough fiber as the Sheriff’s clerk watched from the shadows, a silent judge of his ruin. The harvest feast roared in the hall...
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