The Wistful Voyage
The parchment was heavy, the ink still wet, a dark stain on the cream paper that smelled of iron and old dust. Elias Thorne did not look at the seal. He looked at the date, then at the signature of the Crown’s agent, a name he had not heard in thirty years. The estate was forfeit. The grounds were to be surrendered to the nephew, a boy of nineteen who had never set foot in Oakhaven. Elias set...
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