The Wistful Dinner
In Elias’s hands, the deed to the manor lay flat and brittle, the paper yellowing at the corners like a dried leaf, the ink of his father’s signature still dark and wet against the grain. He held it against his chest, the document’s weight a physical anchor against the rising nausea in his gut, the smell of old varnish and damp wool filling his nostrils before he even opened his eyes. The dream...
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