The Wistful Saga
The ledger lay open on the desk, its pages yellowed and stiff with the dust of the mill. You turned the page, the paper crinkling softly under your thumb, and there it was. A discrepancy. A sum of forty pounds, deducted from the collective wage of the night shift, labeled as a "maintenance surcharge." It was a lie. There had been no maintenance. There had only been silence and the grinding of...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews