The Faded Paradox
The wax seal was cold, a dull red disc that had hardened into a shapeless lump, and I broke it with my thumbnail, feeling the brittle give of the material under the pressure. Inside, the letter from Father Silas lay folded into a tight square, the paper yellowed and brittle as dried leaves, but the ink was wrong. It was not the faded sepia I expected from a document written three years ago, but...
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