The Faded Frontier
12th of November. Your fingers are already stained with the iron-gall ink, the black seeping into the whorls of your skin like dirt under a fingernail, and you are scraping the final entry for Mrs. Gable into the municipal ledger, the nib scratching against the heavy, cream-colored paper with a sound that is the only thing in the town of Oakhaven that still possesses a distinct, individual...
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