The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-24 09:51:07 -

Father. The word hung in the air of the study, sharp and cold, cutting through the dust motes that danced in the slant of afternoon light. Elias Thorne did not look up from the pot in his hands. He was holding the withered oak sapling he had planted for Margaret, three years gone now, its bark peeling like sunburned skin. He knew who had spoken before the voice fully formed. He could hear the...

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