The Distant Nightmare
The iron-bound volume of the County Statutes sits upon my desk, its cover worn to a dull, metallic sheen by thirty years of thumbs. It is heavy, a physical weight that has long since become an extension of my own arm, a shield against the chaos of human error. I am Elias Thorne, fifty years old, and I have served as the magistrate of Oakhaven since the day the old courthouse was raised from the...
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