The Wistful Letter
The quill scratched against the parchment, a sound like a fingernail dragged down a blackboard, and Elias Thorne watched the ink bleed into the fiber with a viscosity that defied the laws of nature. It was the year of our Lord 1348, and the air in the isolated tower was thick with the scent of rot and old parchment, a suffocating perfume that clung to the lungs. Elias was thirty-two years old,...
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