The Wistful Letter
The chisel bit into the mortar with a sound like a bone snapping. Elias Thorne pulled the tool free, wiping the grey dust from his knuckles with a rag that had long since lost its color. In his other hand, he held the cracked porcelain cup, the rim jagged where he had broken it against the stone wall an hour ago. The bitter tonic inside had gone cold, the liquid settling into the fracture like...
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