The Golden Visit
The letter lay on the kitchen table, its seal broken, the ink still wet with the bureaucratic weight of termination. You read it twice, the words blurring into a grey smear, then you turned it over, staring at the blank back as if the truth might be hiding there in reverse. The house was silent, save for the tick of the clock and the low, mournful bleating of the sheep in the field beyond the...
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