The Wistful Throne
The letter lay on the scarred oak desk of the Harrowgate Coal Company’s administrative office, its edges yellowed and soft from the damp air that clung to the walls of this industrial era. Elias Thorne, a man of thirty-four years whose lungs were already beginning to fill with the heavy, wet fluid of consumption, held the document not with the reverence of a man seeking justice, but with the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews