The Faded Photograph
The mud on the road to Valdoria was a thick, sucking thing that seemed determined to swallow your boots whole, and you, Elias, a thirty-two-year-old court scribe with a coat that had seen better decades, walked with a lightness of step that betrayed a dangerous ignorance of the weight you carried. You were here for a signature, a simple bureaucratic act that would clear the debt incurred when...
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