The Wistful Letter
The paper was thin, translucent, and smelled of vinegar and old bone. I held it up to the single bulb in the archive room, my fingers trembling not from cold, but from the sudden, heavy weight of what I had found. It was a list. Names, written in a hand so precise it looked like machine print, inked in a brown so dark it was nearly black. At the bottom, in letters slightly larger than the rest,...
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