The Faded River
The quill scratched against the parchment, a dry, abrasive sound that filled the silence of the ancestral hall. Arthur Blackwood held his father’s wrist, his grip firm enough to leave a faint, reddish indentation in the skin, while his father’s eyes remained fixed on the window, on the willow tree outside that was weeping a thick, rust-colored sap. The Patriarch did not look at the deed, nor at...
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