The Wistful Dinner
The parchment lay open on the cold stone floor, its ink still wet, the Bishop’s seal pressed in black wax like a bruise. You read the words twice, the first time for the syntax, the second for the weight, and you knew then that the dawn you had promised to meet would arrive in chains. You were Elias, constable of the town, thirty years old and already old in the eyes of the men who had once...
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