The Wistful Silence
The note was pinned to the inside of the mill door with a rusted nail, the paper yellowed and soft as wet cloth. It read: *Do not seek what is lost. The water keeps what it takes.* Silas tore it down, his fingers leaving dark smudges on the parchment, and tucked it into the pocket of his wool trousers. He was twelve, sharp-featured and quick-tongued, and he had spent the last three weeks...
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