The Wistful Incense
The letter lay on the workbench, its edges yellowed and soft with damp, the ink faded to the color of dried blood. Elias picked it up, his calloused fingers trembling slightly as he read the final demand from the estate’s creditors: the debt on Blackthorn Manor had reached four hundred pounds, a sum that would take him three years of steady masonry to repay, yet the deadline was set for the...
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