The Wistful Saga
The letter lay on the desk, its edges worn soft from the weight of three refusals. Clara Vane smoothed the paper against the wood, her fingers tracing the crisp, black ink of the rejection stamp. It was a standard form, devoid of personal address, yet it carried the specific gravity of a verdict. Across the room, Director Halloway leaned back in his leather chair, the leather creaking a low...
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