The Wistful Saga
The ink on the deed is still wet. You press your thumb into it, a deliberate act of defiance against the trembling that has taken hold of your hands. The parchment screams under the pressure, a high, thin sound like a mouse caught in a trap, but you do not pull back. You are Elias Thorne, fifty-two years old, and the magistrate of Blackwood Hall. You need this signature by the winter solstice....
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