The Distant Wound
The red wax seal cracked under the pressure of Silas Vane’s thumb, a small, sharp sound in the otherwise silent room that smelled of dried lavender and old paper. He held the stamp with both hands, his knuckles white, staring at the document that lay open on the heavy oak desk, the ink still wet and glistening like a fresh bruise. This was the final redaction for Elara’s case, the one that...
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