The Wistful Cipher
The nib of your pen scratches against the heavy bond paper, a sound like dry leaves skittering across a grave. It is October 14, 1924. You are thirty years old, Elara Vane, and your hands are trembling so violently that the ink blots into the fibers, creating a dark, spreading bruise that does not belong to the script. You are writing to your father, who is dying in the quiet room at the end of...
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