The Wistful Dinner
The letter lay on the obsidian desk, its seal unbroken, the wax the color of dried blood. Elias, twelve years old and trembling in his ill-fitting wool suit, stared at the document that had ended his father’s life. It was a notice of forfeiture, signed by High Steward Aldous Thorne, citing the disappearance of the quarterly ledger from the Ashworth Palace vault. The air in the rotunda was cold,...
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